A Visit From the Past
by phantomphan2000
Summary: Christine is having disturbing nightmares about the Paris Opera House, and though she doesn't want to admit it, she dreams of the ghost who continues to haunt them all. 2004 movie-based
1. The Phantom of the Opera

**A/N: ****If you are reading this, then you must be a Phantom of the Opera fan. Welcome to my first fanfic! For the record, constructive criticism will always be allowed, but please do not be **_**too**_** harsh. This is my first fic, after all. **

**Summary: Erik escapes from the Opera House the night the chandelier crashes, but ultimately fails to resist the temptation to return. What will happen when Erik revisits the catacombs of the Paris Opera House? RC, eventual EC. Based on the 2004 movie.**

**Disclaimer: Do I own Phantom? *Bursts into laughter* Are you kidding? If I owned Phantom, this story wouldn't even exist!**

**And now, here is A Visit From the Past: Chapter 1!**

**Chapter 1: The Phantom of the Opera**

The sweet harmonic sound filled his ears as his hands traveled with a fluent ease over the keys of the organ, almost soothing him in a way that only reminded him of the one he loved with his entire being, and the one he was so desperately trying to forget. And though he tried, time and time again, he failed hopelessly.

He had never expected to forget her completely - he was far past the point of no return to think that he could. He'd made it that way; but the pang of disappointment stung him more and more every time failure knocked on his door, like a flaming sword being driven through his chest again, and again, and again...

His fist came down hard on his pride and joy, causing a loud eerie sound to emanate from the instrument. The sound bounced back to him off the cave walls, and it was only then that he remembered where he was.

After that infamous night all those months ago, the night the chandelier had fallen, the night the Opera House had burned, the night he still thought to be the night when he had lost everything - he'd fled; he'd disappeared in the hopes of remaining a free man, and he'd succeeded; of course he had, for that was what he did, wasn't it? He ran, and he hid, darkness being his only companion.

But the longing to revisit the Paris Opera House had grown stronger with each passing day in hiding, and soon, it was all he could think about. How much he missed calling it home - if one such as him could call it that.

Now here he was: he had come back to the only place that had ever come close to feeling like a real home to him. And what did he feel? Empty, lifeless, alone... Just as he had all those months ago.

So was it really any different? Was there really any point in coming back, in being there?

No one answered the questions; he'd become used to the silence he received every time he asked one, whether spoken aloud or not. For who would answer him?

No one: He was alone.

There was only one that could hear his pleas for answers, for help: Him, and Him alone. And did He provide any answers? No. _But_, he reminded himself, _it was He who cursed you with such a repulsive disfigurement for half of a face, who abandoned you. He is the last you should expect any sort of answer from._

He lifted a hand to the right side of his face and felt the porcelain mask that resided there. This was his greatest shield. It hid his scarred and warped flesh well from the cruelty of the world. It was the only thing that reminded him of what lay beneath, and sometimes - if he was lucky - he even forgot it was there. But wearing it for long periods of time only made the pain worse, both the physical and the emotional. It was an aching reminder of how she had feared his unmasked face, though it was exactly that fear that had caused the monster to stir within him, to want nothing more than to be loved by her, and love her just as much in return.

But, in truth, she was not his to love.

It was like time catching up to him when he had come to find she loved another, better man. And he had not come to blame her for it. He'd only blamed her lover, her warm Vicomte, for the feelings she shared with him... and he still did.

It was likely that the two were somewhere far from Paris, engaged to be married, if not already. He had no doubt that the young De Chagny would make her happy and give her everything she asked for. But would they be able to stay bound together against the test of time?

Or would he have been better for her? Give her love, music, and anything else he could possibly afford give her?

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. They were the exact reasons why he wanted to rid himself the capability to think. He knew that dwelling on something that poisonous to his mind - perhaps as smoke was to the lungs - would only send him back over the edge and down into the depths of his own personal underworld. Swimming inside his mind was another thing he'd forbidden himself to do, just another thing to be added to the long mental list of failures.

He rose from the organ bench to see exactly what damage had been done to his home in his absence. He hadn't paid much attention to anything besides the instrument that could soothe the aching in his chest . . . if only for a moment.

As he'd made his hurried escape from the Opera House eight months ago down one of its many secret passages, he had clearly heard the sound of splashing water and voices of men shouting behind him. He'd known it was the mob, and what they'd been after:

Him.

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as he imagined them searching endlessly, only to find that he had already made his departure. Had they been disappointed, or relieved? Or had it been possible to feel both?

And the thought of the managers losing the fame they had worked so hard for, losing all the money in exchange for repairs (if they had had the sense to make any) almost made him smile for the first time in a long time.

Almost. But it just wasn't enough.

Then his mouth curved into a frown when he thought of the precious things the fools might have gotten their hands on.

The one thing he knew hadn't been touched was his organ. Every single piece of sheet music he had written on still resided in their normal place upon it. Besides an inch or so of dust on the top, it was in exactly the same perfect condition as it had always been.

The shattered mirrors had been his own doing, so that did not count. The candles he had relit were still in their candelabras, and even the figure he'd made of the woman he loved seemed to be in exactly the same position in which he had left it. Everything seemed as it should be. The only place left to look was the room in which he wondered if the swan bed still remained.

He took the spiraled stone stairs that led up to the abandoned room two at a time. He stopped when he reached the top where curtains the color of blood hid the room from his grey-green eyes.

Would it be recognizable when he pushed back the velvet material? Would it be the same room in which he'd once dwelled?

He slowly reached out and pushed the curtains aside, revealing the room that lay behind it.

The bed was still there, not that he cared much for it anymore. It only brought back the memory of when she had come back to give him the ring. She'd pressed it into his hand, given him an apologetic look, and left him to drown in his own hot tears. It had been the same ring he now had on a small gold chain around his neck.

As much as he had forbid himself to think of that night, or anything to do with it, his efforts had failed from the beginning. He'd given in. After slipping the ring on the chain, he'd fastened it around his neck. He'd never taken it off, secretly believing that if he kept it close to his heart, if he kept _her_ close to his heart, she would come back to him one day.

That moment she'd left him would always be the longest and most crushing moment of his life. He'd closed his eyes to prevent the tears from falling, but somehow, they'd slipped through his defenses. Then the truth that she was really gone for good had sunk in with a blow worse than anything he had ever experienced. And though he wished not to dwell on it, the memory did seem to occupy his thoughts quite a lot.

That memory, and the one when she had kissed him only to save her true love. . . .

Looking around the room, he could see that nothing looked out of place, but there was something tugging at him, he was missing something. . . .

And then he noticed what it was: the mob must have taken one of his masks. The one he remembered leaving was gone, along with the music box, it seemed. The mask on his face was another he'd fetched from one of the secret passages on the night he had fled. He'd placed it there long ago in knowing that he might need a replacement one day.

But had that been all? They had taken nothing else, destroyed nothing else? In a way, he was disappointed. He had hoped they'd touched something of significant importance, like his organ, just so he had a reason to track down and strangle every last one of them. They would only be getting what they deserved, after all, for invading his home.

And perhaps the bloody patron who had stolen his beloved's heart deserved the same. The man might have already been dead, had he not known her feelings for the younger man. Even that night after they had performed _Don Juan, _he knew that, in the end, he would not have been able to kill him_. _Her pain would have become his, had he watched her scream pleadingly for him to stop. He would have, had she told him to. He was at her mercy, he realized. It was clearly not the other way around as he had thought.

He sighed angrily. Was there anything he would not do for her? She would be the death of him, he was sure. Somehow, some way, she would be.

And what would he do now? He was back to where everything had started, where it had all ended. Was he to wait down in the catacombs of the Opera House until someone stumbled upon his home and found him? That was a risk. But he could just disappear again, right? Do what he did best. But running and hiding were not things he wished to do with the remaining years of his life: He had already done it so many times before. Maybe that's why he had come back. It was a permanent place for him to live, or at least it _had_ been until eight months ago. And now . . . ?

Perhaps he could just stay one night. Sleep in a place that was familiar to him for once. Although, he preferred not to sleep much. But, if he decided to stay awake throughout the evening hours, there were so many things that could bring back memories from the past...

Then maybe sleep was the best option. He could escape reality for a few hours, be consumed by the darkness - if sleep came easily.

But he would _not_ dream of _her_.

He slowly and carefully peeled off his mask and crossed over to the bed. He let himself fall into it and become buried in the satin sheets. He closed his eyes when he felt the ring dig into the skin of his chest, wishing for just a moment that he could see her again. Just one more time, and then he would be able to go on living without her. . . .

He groaned; lying to himself could only make things worse.

Sleep would be a test for him, and a difficult one at that. Could he dream without waking and wanting to die to rid himself of the pain, just as every other night had been?

When he, the Phantom of the Opera, had slept alone.

**So what do you think? Let me know in a review! Hope you enjoyed it! :)**


	2. Tensions Rise

**A/N: So here's the next chapter! I really took my time with this one. Any and all reviews would be greatly appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: Do I own Phantom, you ask? No, says I.**

**And now, for the next chapter!**

**Chapter 2: Tensions Rise**

_A gust of wind whistled through the trees as a bright flash of white light briefly illuminated both the sky above her and the ground that lay beneath her bare feet that had gone numb with cold. Leaves broke free of branches and blew wildly in circles on all sides. Thunder rolled somewhere overhead, immediately followed by the sudden downpour of rain, causing her to glance up at the swirling mass of gray clouds that filled the sky for miles in every direction. Huge droplets of water hit every inch of her pale face, and then slowly slid down her cheeks to her neck and hair. She lowered her gaze to the ground when it began to sting. _

_She did not remember why she had nothing on her feet, nor did she remember going out into the rain on her own. . . ._

_When she looked up again, there was suddenly a vast expanse of trees before her - A forest._

_Almost immediately, she became drawn to it, awed by it. Something seemed to be pulling her towards it, like a fish caught and yanked by a fisherman's hook. She slowly walked forward, curious, but did not completely succumb to the force. She had the sudden, unnerving feeling that she was being watched._

_Another flash of lightening, but this time was different: She saw something... An animal of some sort, or perhaps it was nothing but a shadow._

_But it was neither: Not a shadow, nor an animal, but a man._

_He was only a few yards away to her right, drenched from head to toe and standing at the edge of trees as she now was. She couldn't tell what he looked like as the darkness enveloped her again, but she had caught a glimpse of what she believed had been a white shirt. And she could tell he didn't look right in that second she saw him, although, it could have been a trick of the flashing light. She began to feel otherwise as time dragged on. He had been standing upright, but his feet had seemed to be a few inches off the ground. . . ._

_"Christine!" _

_A voice. It was definitely male, but it sounded like it was coming at her from every direction, which she had unfortunately lost all sense of in the dark. Somehow she knew that it belonged to the man with the white shirt. It had sounded forced, like he had been struggling for breath and had sounded strangely familiar..._

_"Christine..."_

_There was silence for the next few seconds, and then she heard the thud of something heavy being dropped to the ground. She sucked in a breath out of fear._

_"Hello?"_

_No answer. _

_Her body was racked with shivers; the darkness seemed to be pressing in on her. She wrapped her arms around herself in the hopes of remaining partially warm in just her nightgown. Had the man fallen over something because of the lack of light? She took a hesitant step forward and called out again, only to receive the same response as before._

_About a dozen or so steps later, her foot collided with something hard and wet. It didn't seem to be hard like a rock, but was still rather solid. She bent down slowly, trying to balance herself from the shivering so she did not fall, and stretched out a hand when her knees touched the soggy ground. She could feel the mud start to seep through her leggings as she searched for something - anything - that would assure her the man was alright._

_The rain only seemed to fall harder as her hand continued to flail around desperately in the air. She felt the continuous slap of it on her bare skin as the seconds ticked by. It soon became apparent to her that the man was no longer on his feet._

_She gasped and withdrew her hand. She had touched something cold, wet, and clammy. Perhaps it was just a rock. Or had it been something else entirely?_

_There was yet another flash of lightening, and to her misfortune, what laid on the ground before her caused her to let out a loud scream of terror._

_She stood and stumbled backwards in disbelief. It couldn't be. There was no way he could be dead, but the rope burn on his neck, and his open blank eyes had suggested otherwise._

_And worst of all, she knew who he was._

_She stared where she knew the body would be, slowly continuing her journey backwards. What could she do? Who could she tell? Who had killed him? Where was the murderer now? In the forest? It had been a murder, not an accident or suicide, for people did not strangle themselves. . . ._

_She froze in terror as her back bumped into something that felt similar to when she had touched the dead man. She was afraid to turn around, to find out exactly what she had collided with. She silently prayed against the odds._

_Against everything the voices in her head were screaming at her, she turned around slowly, trying to keep her breathing even. She was sure time had stopped completely when she came to a halt. All she could see was the gray sky in the night. She hugged herself tighter and shut her eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm herself. But in the next moment, when she had opened them, she could see far more than she wanted to._

_Two flashes of lightning illuminated the area before her long enough so she could see what she'd collided with. She was not mentally or physically prepared for what she saw._

_It was another man . . . a man with a devilish smile and a white mask covering the entire right side of his face, standing there in the gloom, a rope in his gloved hand._

Christine sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide, and screamed.

She had never liked nightmares; she'd hated them with a passion ever since she'd been a little girl, when she had been so vulnerable and little. It seemed silly for her to still be troubled by them, that she was just as vulnerable now. But this had been more vivid than any of the others she remembered having in quite some time.

She'd had nightmares like this before, only a couple of months ago. They'd stopped for awhile, and she'd hoped they had for good. Her dreams had been free of the past long enough for her to believe it was over.

Until now.

It had been about a year, which had apparently not been _near_ as long enough; the nightmare was proof of that. So why had they returned to haunt her after all this time?

It was odd how it had seemed to appear out of nowhere, that she had not even been thinking about anything at all before she'd gone to bed. Yet, she had had the nightmare, with the man she had been desperately trying to forget since the day she'd met him starring as the murderer: He had killed her fiancé.

Her door burst open with enough force that it banged back against the wall. Her beloved came rushing to her side faster than she had ever seen him move, looking wildly around the room for danger.

"What happened? Are you alright?" he asked, sitting down on the bed beside her and putting his hands on her shoulders gently.

When she did not answer, he became instantly worried, scanning the room for a second time.

"Christine, what's wrong?" he tried again. "Why did you scream?"

She fell against his chest in defeat, allowing the tears flow freely down her cheeks, and his arms to wrap around her in confusion. "Oh, it was terrible, Raoul!" she sobbed. She bit her lip to prevent herself from going completely hysteric. The horrible conclusion came out in a whisper: "You were dead."

Raoul pulled out of the hug. He put his hands on her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "It was only a dream, nothing more," he told her softly, wiping away the moisture on her face. "I am here with you, alive and well." He placed one of her hands on his cheek. "You see?"

She shook her head in his grasp. "No, you don't understand." She blinked, and looked around the room once, trying to find the right words. Through the window, she could see that it was dark and gloomy outside, like the horrifying scenery she had dreamed. She stared at him, pleading with him to understand what she was about to tell him. "It was _him_, Raoul. He killed you..."

Raoul's jaw clenched, and then unclenched just as quickly. He had thought the worst was behind them. Why now, why her? How could she possibly be dreaming about the Opera Ghost?

He frowned. "Were you thinking about him?"

Christine shook her head from side to side. "No, not at all. All I've ever wanted is to _forget _him." She whimpered and fell against his chest again. She put her arms tightly around him. "It seemed so real. . . ." She sniffled after the silence had stretched between them for a few moments. "Raoul?"

"Yes?"

"What time is it?"

He smiled, wrapped his arms around her again, and pressed another kiss to her forehead. "It's early," he replied. "You should go back to sleep."

She didn't like that idea. "No, I'm not that tired."

Raoul sighed. When was she going to get over this fear? He hated seeing her like this - so small and vulnerable. She had been doing so well, slowly but surely maturing into a young woman, becoming more independent and strong with each passing day spent away from the ruins of the Opera House. He'd brought her to his manor just eight months ago, on the night when he'd almost been killed by the Phantom, in hopes of helping her forget. Perhaps he had not been doing such a great a job as he'd thought.

He gently put a hand under her chin and tilted her head so that she had no choice but to look at him. "You need your rest, Christine," he whispered. His words caressed her as he stared deep into her eyes. "You are much stronger than you think."

She shook her head, unconvinced, for what he claimed held no truth.

Raoul leaned closer to her, a sense of desperation in his voice. "You are the strongest person I have ever known, Christine. The past is in the past."

Christine frowned slightly. He sounded as worried as she was afraid. Could he be having doubts about her feelings for him? "Raoul, I love you," she whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."

Though he should be happy at the sound of this prospect, no smile appeared on his face. "I know," he said, pulling her close. "I've always known."

"Would you stay?"

"Of course," he breathed at once.

She lowered her head back to her pillow and felt his strong arms wrap around her waist and his breath on her ear.

"I love you more."

Christine did not know the words would one day ring true as she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

The sun was barely peaking behind the clouds; it was certainly brighter than it had been a few hours before. There seemed to be no threat of another storm anytime soon, for which Christine was thankful. Maybe her fiancé would be at ease when she acted more like herself.

Smiling, Christine sat up to whisper in his ear. "Raoul, wake up."

He grunted and shifted slightly on the bed. "Is it time already?" His voice was thick with drowsiness.

"Yes, the sun is up and shining," she replied.

He opened his eyes in slight annoyance. "Of course it is." Raoul pushed himself into a sitting position. "I have much to do today. I'll inform the maids."

He didn't so much as glance at her once, and then he was gone.

Christine shook her head, frowning. She didn't know what she'd do without him. He was everything she had ever wanted, and more. She briefly reflected upon the memory when Raoul had proposed, almost wishing it had taken place at the Paris Opera House. Her heart ached for its high walls and breathtaking beauty.

After changing into a more suitable gown that was mostly for wearing around the manor, Christine headed down the hall and into the kitchen. One of the maids was already pouring tea into two cups. Raoul was not yet there.

For a manor as big as Raoul's, the dozens of maids were almost necessary. The bigger the house, the more you had to clean.

When she had first entered his home, Christine had gotten lost on her way to kitchen she was now standing in. One of the maids, which happened to be the one pouring tea and went by the name of Anita, had helped her find the way. Christine smiled and went to sit down at the dining table.

"Good morning, Anita," she greeted.

"Morning," the women said. "Sleep well?"

"Not so good, actually," Christine replied. "Nightmare," she added when the maid waited for her to elaborate.

"Ah." Sudden understanding appeared on her face. "Thought I heard someone scream early this morning. At least I know my hearing is still decent. Mary thought I'd lost it when I asked her if she'd heard something!" She laughed lightly and set the kettle down.

Christine joined in for her own sake.

"Would you like some bread?" the maid asked. "There's plenty."

"No, thank you," Christine replied. "I'm not all that hungry this morning." Then an idea came to mind. Pulling one of the steaming cups closer to see that the contents definitely contained tea, Christine took a quick sip, and then asked, "Why don't you join us for breakfast? Meaning my fiancé and I." Glancing out the window nearby, she added absently, "It's such a beautiful morning. Just right for autumn."

Anita nodded, her brown curls bobbing. "It is," she agreed.

Christine looked back up at Anita. She was not a fat woman, per say, just rather plump. Christine did not let that get in the way of their friendship, however. She also had large chocolate-brown eyes with long lashes, dark-brown curly hair, small pink hands, and a sweet voice. She wasn't too tall, either; she probably came up to Christine's shoulder at most.

The maid frowned slightly. "To be honest, my lady, my master has requested that we mop all the floors this morning. My hands are tied, so I'm afraid that I can't join you. Perhaps later this evening?" Her eyebrows rose on the last word.

The soon-to-be-bride nodded. "Make sure to bring the other maids as well. We wouldn't want them to miss out."

"Of course. Oh, and I almost forgot." Anita looked around nervously before handing a white envelope to her mistress. "This came for you earlier this morning. I don't recognize the writing, but I suppose you must."

Christine took the letter with furrowed brows. She wasn't expecting a letter from anyone. Who would be writing to her? "No, I don't know the writing," she announced. "But I think I might have an idea who it's from. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Anita left the room with that, her curls bouncing along behind her.

Christine stared down at her own name on the envelope. If it was from whom she thought, she still had no idea why they would be writing to her.

Slowly opening the flap at the top, she pulled out the folded piece of parchment that the envelope contained. She took a deep breath, trying to ready herself for what the letter might contain, and unfolded it. Her eyes swept down the page of unfamiliar writing:

_Christine,_

_I am pleased to inform you that the Opera House has undergone repairs, and will be reopening at the beginning of next week. The managers, Andre and Richard, wanted me to inform you through a letter, and not in person. I would have come to tell you myself anyway, but I have been helping restore the stage for ballet rehearsals: We have been using the ballroom to practice for the past couple of months. Many of us have been working hard, putting all our efforts into making this building shine once more._

_The Grand Reopening will be next Tuesday at eight o'clock. I suggest speaking with Monsieur Raoul first before you make the decision to come. Meg and I will be waiting for your arrival, regardless of your decision. I am sure the managers will be begging you to come back and be their star again. I have to admit I will not stop them; it would be nice for you to return to the stage, where you undoubtedly belong. You deserve to have the option of resuming your career as an opera singer and performer._

_I have heard from multiple sources that you have gotten engaged. Firstly, congratulations! I was expecting to hear it from you and not from the new ballet girls, but I am truly happy for you. Meg wants you to send us an invitation once you've set the date. She has been searching for the perfect dress to wear. I've had to remind her countless times that it is not her wedding she will be attending. _

_If you decide soon, please send a letter back with your answer. We would all love to see you here again, even if only in the audience and not the cast. _

_Sincerely,_

_Madame Giry_

Christine's eyes widened and she slowly lowered the letter to the table. She hadn't heard a word from Madame or Meg Giry in over a year, and hearing from them now was like her old life catching up with her. This part of her past she'd spent at the Paris Opera House had been enjoyable.

Going back, even if just to watch, would not bring back good memories, she knew. It would bring back everything she had been trying to forget for the past year or so, but perhaps it could put her in a healthier place if she learned to deal with the recollections, one at a time.

And though she would not tell her soon-to-be-husband about this, she would love to resume her career as an opera singer. The only problem was she no longer had a teacher, but she did not have to make her decision just yet. She had all the time she needed to decide.

The only problem would be Raoul. He would not like the idea of returning. He would forbid her to go, tell her that it was pointless to go back to the place where her life had been ruined, where she had been scarred.

They hadn't had an argument in so long, and it seemed wrong to bring up something that would cause one. A long one, an exhausting one.

"Sorry I kept you waiting."

Christine looked up and saw that Raoul had finally made his entrance. He had changed into an old white shirt and decent black trousers. He sat down at the mahogany table next to her and took a sip of tea. "Mary was complaining about mopping the floors, so I sent her to dust."

That's when he glanced down at the parchment in her hands.

"Who's the letter from?" he asked, putting the cup to his lips again.

Christine sighed. "Madam Giry," she answered reluctantly.

Raoul struggled to swallow a mouthful of tea. "Madame Giry?" he asked in a higher voice than he usually spoke in. "Why?" He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. "Is she ill?"

"No, no, nothing like that." How could she tell him just right? "She wanted me to know that the Opera House is reopening next Tuesday." Christine handed him the letter. He would only demand to see it, anyway. "She's invited me to come see the show."

Raoul didn't reply until he had finished reading, his eyes scanning over the neat writing. "How nice of her," he said, his tone not even close to what it should have been. "We'll have to go now, just to thank her."

"Wouldn't that be a waste of time? Why not go and see -" As she had feared, Christine was cut off.

"It won't be a waste if we're not going," he said simply, on an ending note as if the conversation was over.

"You're not allowing me to even have a _choice_?"

He waved his hand absently and took another sip of tea. "There'll be no more discussion on the matter."

She snatched the letter from him, folded it up, and put it back in the envelope. "I have stayed here with you for a little under a year, away from the Opera House, away from everyone, away from _everything_. I have missed the place and my friends more than I can say, and I wish to go back, only for a night. One night. To watch, not perform. And you think I'm being unreasonable? I fail to see how I have been in these past couple of months. Would you care to share with me one time that I have?"

"It's true that you haven't, but you do not understand the reason behind my decision," he countered. "I am concerned for your safety. That is all."

"What do you think will happen? That he will appear out of the shadows and take me away?"

"He very well could! The paper claims him to be dead, but do you really think he is, Christine? I have a very hard time believing anything in the paper these days. Until I see his dead body for myself -"

"Stop it!" Christine pushed herself up from the table and glared down at him. "Would you really wish someone - even someone like him - dead? If that is the truth, then I am engaged to an entirely different man than I thought." She moved towards the door with a grimace on her face.

"Christine, wait -" Raoul caught her wrist just in time. "That is not what I meant!"

She turned back to face him, fire ablaze in her eyes. "Then what exactly _did_ you mean?"

"I _meant_," he began, "that until I can be sure he will not make an appearance, I cannot let you go back to the Opera House, whether it is reopening or not. It just isn't safe, and I _will not_ put you in danger again. _Especially_ not there."

"So are you saying that you would rather keep me here for the rest of my life to prevent anything from happening to me? I used to have a life outside of this house, and I'd like to say that I still have one. I can take care of myself now, Raoul. I don't need you to come with me, but I'm asking you if you will." She tried to slow her breathing as she waited for his answer.

He didn't let go of her wrist right away; he continued to stare at her for a few moments, trying to compose his thoughts. He sighed. "I'll go on one condition," he said finally, holding up a finger.

Was he really considering? Christine folded her arms in a testing manner and cocked an eyebrow. "And that would be . . . ?"

"You stay with me the entire night, no exceptions," he said.

He had agreed, she would be going back! Nodding, she said, "Then it seems that I finally have a reason to wear a dress again."

She turned on her heel and left the room then, leaving Raoul to wonder why he had just agreed to put his beloved in jeopardy.

Even after all those months, after all the nightmares and sleepless nights, Raoul had to face the fact that the Phantom still had Christine firmly in his grasp.

**Reviews make me smile!**


	3. Back To Where It All Began

**A/N: I have a hopefully wonderful treat for you all! I was hoping to get this up before now, but I have been very busy with various things. I hope that I have not kept any and all who have taken a liking to this story waiting too long. I'd better stop rambling and let you read the next chapter. Happy Labor Day!!**

**Disclamier: You all know I don't own Phantom. *sigh***

**Thanks to _studpidamericanidioms91_**, **_sprinkledwithpearls_**, **and _citywolf27_** **for being the first three reviewers of this story!**

**And now for the next installment of A Visit From the Past....**

**Chapter 3: Back To Where It All Began**

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Hurry up, or we're going to be late! The carriage is waiting out front!"

Raoul sighed. Christine had been overly excited all day about returning to the Opera House, seeming to bring it up in every conversation she had with him purposefully, as if she knew he was dreading it. He didn't know how she possibly could with all her babbling about it. Even the maids had seemed to become increasingly annoyed with her bouncy excitement throughout the last few days.

It reminded him of their childhood years. She had always been the impatient one out of them both, always having loved surprises if she hadn't known about them in advance. If she had, she would pout around until it was revealed to her, ruining the whole element of surprise. And she sure contained enough impatience for him now.

He pushed himself to his feet, looked over himself once, and then turned to his bedroom door. Knowing he would more than likely regret it later, he reached out, turned the knob, and pulled it open slowly.

He froze, stiff as a plank of wood. He found himself blinking several times, believing his eyes not to be working properly.

She was wearing a beautiful, elegant white evening gown that seemed to fit her figure perfectly at every curve. It was more than perfect for the occasion, which normally might have concerned him, but he was too blinded by how dreamy-like she looked. Could he possibly be asleep?

Christine did not see his expression at first, for she was studying his attire just as much as he was hers. He was wearing the typical evening wear for men - several white garments to help keep him warm in the chilly weather, a black tailcoat, with fancy black trousers and dress shoes. When she looked up at him, she caught sight of his slightly raised eyebrows and smiled.

"Shocked, are we?" she teased.

Raoul cleared his throat, slowly rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "You look beautiful," he managed to say.

"And you look very handsome, if I do say so myself." Her smile widened. She stared at him for a moment, and then remembered the carriage. She glanced down the long hallway, towards the front door. "The driver was getting restless. We'd better go before he takes it upon himself to take up the reigns and leave."

Raoul silently thought to himself that no sensible man would leave if they knew just how much he was willing to pay. He held out his arm for her to take, just as any polite gentleman would. "Shall we?" he asked.

Christine took his arm willingly and they headed for the door. She realized as they did that he hadn't smiled once in the last three days, not even when she had agreed to stay by his side all evening and not wander off on her own.

Could there be something that was bothering him? He had seemed fine throughout the day, but now that she thought back on it, he had seemed a little glum ever since the arrival of Madame Giry's letter. It made her feel slightly guilty, for she had been talking about the Paris Opera House almost nonstop. She had failed to notice his mood at all.

Until now.

She knew at once what he was feeling without having to ask: dread. He was dreading the moment that their carriage would arrive at the Opera House. She could feel the unmistakable waves of it emanating from him.

Mary and Anita were standing at the bottom of the staircase by the door, obviously waiting for them. They both had old rags in their hands.

"Good evening," they greeted.

"Good evening," Raoul said, nodding once. "Are you two finished with the dusting?"

"Yes, sir," Anita answered. "The others are just about finished as well."

Raoul did not smile. "Excellent. Seeing as Christine and I are going to be out rather late this evening, I'm relieving you from your duties tonight. Kindly inform the other maids once we've gone."

The two women looked at each other in disbelief; it was true that Raoul rarely ever gave the maids time to themselves. It was even more shocking to Christine that he was going to let them relax while they were to be away for most of the night. He usually gave them back-breaking work to do in his absence.

Then Anita nodded. "We shall."

"Thank you, and good-night," he said, towing Christine along with him to the front door. "We'll see you both in the morning."

The maids took one look at each other and then burst into uncontrollable laughter. The next thing Christine knew, they were rushing up the stairs, each wanting to be the first to reach the landing to deliver the unbelievable news to the others; she laughed as Raoul opened the door and stepped out into the black night at his side.

"You know, I'm really starting to like those two," she admitted. "They are quite an inseparable pair."

"I'm glad." His voice was flat and emotionless. He avoided her gaze all the way to the carriage, and even when they were seated inside, he seemed to find the passing scenery more interesting than sharing his thoughts with her.

"Are you alright?" Christine whispered. He had seemed so deep in his thoughts that it seemed rude to break his concentration on them. But his glassy, unfocused eyes had been what had caused her to voice her concern.

Her question seemed to bring him back to reality from whatever world his mind had entered. He looked at her with a pained expression. His eyes swam with mixed emotions, ones that Christine could not pick out easily. All she could see was pain written all over his face.

"Raoul?" Her voice was filled with sudden panic. He was sitting directly across from her, and she shifted herself close enough so that she could touch his hand. "Say something."

He took her hand in his. "I. . . " He seemed not to be able to look directly at her. His gaze dropped to the floor as he sighed in defeat. "Just promise that you will stay with me tonight. Please."

Christine's brows stitched together in confusion. "I already have. . . You made me promise." Didn't he remember? "Is there something wrong?" she tried gently.

He slowly stroked her hand with his thumb. "I guess I'm just nervous," he said. "You and I both know that there will be dozens of people waiting for your arrival. You'll be like a queen returning to her throne." He tried his best to smile up at her.

Christine noticed how much effort it took him to do so, and knew at once that he was lying to her. Maybe not completely, but he was not being fully honest with her either.

What was really causing him to be so nervous? Had she overlooked something? Something. . .

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

She wanted to smack herself in the forehead for not figuring it out sooner. How could she have been so oblivious? She had had a nightmare about him, for God's sake! That should've made her realize. . . .

Perhaps she shouldn't have told Raoul about her dream. He had seemed almost more upset about it than she had, which was just proof of her suspicions. She could simply have told him that she'd seen a spider. It would have explained her scream, and why she might have looked as white as a sheet.

And she could have at least tried to keep the letter from his eyes for a while, just long enough to figure out how to break it to him. She could have had a whole day to plan it out.

And why had she received the letter on such short notice? Shouldn't Madame Giry have known how Raoul would react? She had said something about speaking to him about it first. But Christine knew there was something odd about the way she had gone about suggesting it.

Before she could think of any comforting words to say to him, the carriage came to an abrupt stop. She saw Raoul suddenly jerk to life.

"I suppose this is it then," he said, running his hands nervously over the front of his tailcoat. "The time has come for the return of the famous Opera star who has stolen my heart." He opened the door, stepped out into the cold night air, and held his hand out for her to take.

Christine took it without hesitation and stepped down onto the hard ground. All around her men and women of all ages swarmed around the carriage. Some were in such a hurry that they took no notice of her or the young patron at her side. Others stopped, gawked, and asked things like, "Are you Christine? Christine Daaé?" and "Is that really you? Are you the famous Miss Daaé?" She heard her name press against her ears from all sides.

Raoul, suddenly annoyed, took her hand and shoved through the enormous crowd, not bothering to apologize for those he caused to stumble to the side into others, who shouted many different insults at him. He barked back to the driver to wait at the entrance for them after the performance had ended.

"Raoul, Raoul!" she screamed at him over the roar of the impatient crowd. "Stop! You'll hurt someone!" She yanked her hand from his. He looked back at her with furrowed brows. The frantic look in his eyes did not go unnoticed.

He sighed with frustration. "If you are not willing to go in, then we will return to the carriage and take our leave," he announced simply.

She knew exactly why he was acting like he was. "We aren't leaving. At least, _I_ am not. You still have the choice to go if you so desire to. No one is keeping you here by force," she pointed out. "I invited you to be with me tonight, and if you no longer wish to be, then I see no further reason why you should be here." She cocked an eyebrow in an almost challenging manner and waited for his reply.

Raoul stared at her for the longest time, as if he could not believe she was standing there. Then he took one sweeping look around at the tightly-packed crowd of people and sighed again. Why was he so weak when it came to her? The answer was quite obvious, even to him: He loved her with all the fiber of his being. "Onwards to the doors of the Opera House," he said unenthusiastically.

Christine could tell his tone was purposeful, but she let it go. There wasn't any good reason to start another heated argument - or "discussion", as Raoul liked to put it - in public.

It took some time to weave their way through the remaining people. It seemed like more and more unfamiliar faces were staring at her as she continued the slow journey towards the entrance. She did her best to ignore them and their comments, along with other various things people were shouting at her over the bubble of excitement that now had them all on their toes to see over all the heads and top hats. The pushing and shoving began at the top of the steps leading up to the doors, and Raoul seemed to be willing to fight to the death for their spot.

Christine was surprised that he did not lash out at a man who pushed another into his side, causing him to stumble and lose his grip on her hand. When she found him again, his face was red with anger and annoyance.

"Are you alright?" she asked breathlessly.

Amazingly, he brushed himself off and smiled down at her. "I'm fine. Let's get in there before anyone else arrives." He took her hand again; this time he made sure to keep her safely at his side as they forced their way through the congested traffic by the door.

Once they'd squeezed through, she let out a breath of relief. "Where do you think they're all . . . coming from?" She was momentarily stunned by forgotten beauty of the entrance hall.

Raoul followed her gaze and laughed in surprise. "Unbelievable! After all this time, it looks just the same. . . ." He trailed off, looking around in a daze of disbelief. It might as well have been yesterday that he had brought flowers for Christine after her first performance in the spotlight.

They could not treasure its entrancing beauty for long; the people kept on piling in, pushing their way around them. Some threw them looks of pure dislike and others whispered things that neither Christine nor Raoul would ever resort to saying. They continued on at a slow pace, but were suddenly distracted by a cry of delight.

"Christine!" a familiar high-pitched voice squealed. "You came!"

Meg Giry came dashing through the crowd and caught Christine in a hug. She laughed, hugging her friend tighter, and then looked up to see Madame Giry making her way towards them at a much slower pace. Christine flashed her a smile over Meg's shoulder.

It was only when her mother reached them that Meg finally pulled out of the hug.

"You'll have to excuse my daughter," she said. "I told her there was a chance of you not showing up at all -"

"Oh!" Meg grabbed Christine's left hand to stare at the ring on her third finger. "It's beautiful!"

"She deserves the finest," Raoul said, standing up straight and fixing his tailcoat to suggest that the ring was not the only fine thing that belonged to her.

Christine laughed. "You'll have to excuse him. He's had a bit too much to drink this evening. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"I have not had a drop of anything, thank you, my dear Christine." He flashed her a smile, and Christine could not help but smile back.

"The managers have booked a box for you this evening, free of charge," Madame Giry announced. "We had better get in there now, while we still can. They would like a quick word before you take your seats." She began to walk back through the crowd, Meg just behind her.

Raoul held out his arm again for Christine to take. "Shall we?" he asked.

Christine took his arm, put a smile on her face, and took his arm. "I see you've taken up a change in mood," she noted.

"I might as well _act_ like I'm having a great time," he whispered back. "Otherwise, it's a waste of a night."

They followed the Girys' through the clusters of people until they found them standing with the two managers, Richard and Andre, down by the first row of seats.

"Miss Daaé! How lovely it is to see you again!" Andre shouted above all the other conversations various people were having around them. He took her hand and quickly kissed it.

We were hoping you'd attend tonight's performance," Richard intercepted, not even allowing a heartbeat of time to be wasted. "There is much we need to discuss, as you probably already know."

"Pardon me, gentlemen," Raoul interrupted, "but I would like to take our seats before we discuss any business. The curtain rises in fifteen minutes, does it not? Would you care to accompany us to our box?"

Christine saw the nervous looks the two exchanged at his suggestion. Andre turned to Madame Giry and gave her a look that was undoubtedly a signal.

The next second, Madame Giry said, "Please, follow me, monsieur" and dragged both Raoul and Christine back to the entrance hall and up the stairs that led to the higher boxes. "You will have to forgive them for this," she said as they began the climb. "This was by no means intentional. It was the only box left unsold, and they desperately tried to trade, but of course no one would. . . ."

Christine almost lost her footing on the stairs when she realized just what Madame Giry was trying to tell them. Raoul put out a hand to steady her in concern, which she pushed away. Her heart began to beat rapidly in her chest, and she suddenly felt as if she couldn't get enough air. Was this really happening?

That's when Raoul seemed to understand, for his eyes widened and he stopped short, putting out a hand to stop Christine from going any further. "No," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "How could they even _think _-"

Madame Giry turned around and walked back to the two of them. "It is not their fault, monsieur. I myself tried as well, to no avail. I assure you, if there was anything we could do to change -"

"There's no need for that," Raoul said coldly, raising a hand. "We will leave now and save you the trouble." He put a protective arm around Christine and started to turn away.

"Wait, please, monsieur," Madame Giry pleaded. "We would love for you to stay."

A heartbeat of silence. "No," Raoul said without turning around. "You would love for my _fiancé_ to stay. I forbid it." He waved his free arm in a dismissive manner above his head. "I cannot believe how much everything - no, _everyone_ - has changed. I might have expected this from the managers, but I certainly would not have expected this from _you_, Madame. Good evening to you." He began the descent back down to the main floor.

Christine did not follow.

He finally looked back up once he was halfway down. "Come with me, Christine. You do not need this." He held out his hand, which she did not move to take. He sighed. "Did I miss something?"

Madame Giry moved to stand next to Christine at the top of the steps, who seemed to be frozen in time. "There are guards by the box, monsieur. They will leave you protected."

"I do not wish to be seated in box five, thank you, Madame, with _or_ without protection," he said angrily. "If it were just me, I would most likely reconsider. But since I am not alone, I would die before I allow Christine to sit there. Even if I, and the guards, were to accompany her, it would not go as desired." He shifted his gaze once more to Christine, who had not moved once in the last few moments, and gestured to her still figure. "And as you can see, she is already scared out of her mind by the thought."

Christine seemed to find her voice then. "No, no. I'm fine. I would still like to see the performance." She saw Raoul's face go pale at her words. "If at any time you would like to leave, then that is what we will do. I promise you."

He closed his eyes, sighed heavily, and put a hand to his forehead. How could she possibly still want to watch the performance from the box that the Phantom had once requested to be left empty for his own personal use? Raoul had sat in it once, believing there to be no Phantom of the Opera, and what had happened? He had nearly been strangled by the Punjab lasso in the Phantom's rage! Of course, that had been because he loved Christine, but still! There was no physical evidence that proved him to be dead, so why should he allow Christine to sit there? It would be like condemning her to death at the monster's hands!

But they were already here. They had come this far, so why should he turn back now? Perhaps if the Phantom decided to show, he would finally get another chance to duel with him and end it all with a single thrust of his sword . . . which he lacked at the moment.

"On one condition," he finally said, holding up a finger. "I shall need to borrow a sword."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in box five. The guards were almost unbearably close, to Raoul's liking. Christine seemed not to notice them, too focused on the prancing ballet girls on the stage. He did not watch much of the performance; the weight of the sword now attached to his waist seemed keep him alert. It seemed to weigh ten pounds, like an unwanted burden.

Before he knew it, the curtain had fallen, and people were on their feet, clapping like it was their job to do so. He followed suit, pretending like he had watched and enjoyed the show, blending in with everyone else.

Christine turned to him once the standing ovation had ended.

"Didn't you love it?" she asked, her eyes alive with a fire he hadn't seen in a long time. "It was just beyond amazing!"

"It was," he said with a smile. He bent to kiss her cheek. "But you are far more beyond amazing," he whispered in her ear.

Five minutes later, they met Meg and her mother once again in the entrance hall.

"What a splendid show!" Christine said. "You were amazing up there, Meg!"

"I wouldn't have been if my ballet instructor hadn't made me practice so much," she insisted, looking up at her mother. "I swear I could do the steps in my sleep!"

They all laughed.

"Well, Madame," Raoul said, handing the sword over to her. "It seems that I will not be needing this tonight. But, in the future, if you let Andre and Richard book our box, make sure it is a different one. I would hate for this to become a regular occurrence."

"Of course," she said, taking the sword from him.

"I believe this is where we say good-night then, Christine," he said. "It's getting late."

Christine hugged both Meg and Madame Giry. "I hope we'll see you again soon. Please tell the managers to send a letter stating when they wish for me to come and discuss the business they spoke of. I'm dreadfully tired, anyway, and I would not be fully aware of what I would be agreeing to if I were to speak with them now."

"Don't worry, we will," Meg assured. "Good-night, Christine."

"Good-bye, Meg."

Christine and Raoul watched as they disappeared into the crowd.

"Are you ready to leave then, my love?" Raoul asked, tightening his arm around her waist.

"More than ready," she replied, resting her head on his chest. "But I need to use the washroom before we leave."

"Don't take too long, Miss Daaé," he whispered in her ear. "I'll wait here for you."

Christine took the stairs slowly. There was a washroom just at the top of the stairs. Hopefully, it would not be too crowded.

But when she opened the door and stepped inside, it was deserted.

She crossed the room to one of the sinks and looked into the mirror. Her hair looked a mess to her, but it was honestly not all that bad. Perhaps it was just because she was tired. She hadn't slept well because of her excitement in coming back to the Opera House. To her, it had been more than worth it. Now she could go back to Raoul's manor and sleep the night and morning away to catch up on sleep.

There was a small click sound that seemed to come from the door, which caused her to glance at it with a frown. "Raoul?" she called. "Is that you?"

There was no answer.

The door knob seemed to be calling to her, pulling her closer to the door. She couldn't fight the pull. She went unwillingly to the door, not even daring to breathe. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She was released from the pull when she was within a foot of the door. She reached out and turned the knob. Fear began to rise in her when she tried several times to open the door and it would not budge.

The door was locked from the outside.

How odd, Christine thought. Shouldn't it lock from the inside? That's how she remembered all the other washrooms to be. Why should this one be any different?

She tried to compose herself. There was no need to panic; Raoul was just down in the entrance hall. When she would not return, he would surely come looking for her. All she had to do now was wait.

There was no reason for her to think her recent nightmare had somehow become real.

A small squeak, followed by the sound of running water filled her ears. She froze. There was someone else in the room with her!

Christine wanted to start screaming and bang on the door until her fists were raw and her throat was on fire. But curiosity got the better of her.

She turned around slowly, holding her breath. She wanted to close her eyes about halfway, but she had the sudden feeling that if she did, she would never open them again.

Water was rushing from the faucet, the left knob at a different angle than the right. She slowly walked to the sink and turned it back. It was quiet then, save for Christine's heavy breathing.

Then she had the sudden feeling that she was being watched. She dared herself to look up at the mirror in front of her. Nothing else could be as weird as a faucet acting of its own accord, right?

Just behind her, over her shoulder, stood a figure dressed all in black, save for the white half-mask upon the right side of his face. Christine's mouth fell open in a soundless scream.

"Hello, Christine," a dark, seductive voice greeted. Christine swore that the figure's mouth had not moved, but who else could have said anything? They were the only two in the room, and the voice had been male. "It has been a long time . . . far too long, don't you think?" His voice was inside her mind now, echoing around, refusing to leave.

He began to walk towards her, his black cloak swirling out behind him to reveal the Punjab lasso that lay beneath, secured to his belt.

That's when Christine fully opened her mouth to scream.

**MWAHAHAHA! **

**Sorry, but I absolutely _love_ cliff hangers (and I also hate them when they're really good, too)! So tell me what you think. Was this worth reading? I personally think it's the best chapter so far. Hint: Reviews only take a minute and they = future chapters!**


	4. Mistakes

**A/N: I'm sure some of you are probably thinking that I haven't updated soon enough, but don't care now that the time has arrived for the next installment of A Visit From the Past. This chapter proved rather difficult to write, but was fun to brainstorm for. I got some excellent reviews for the previous chapters, which I greatly appreciate. A special thanks to **_**sprinkledwithpearls**_ **for her willingness to listen to a crazy writer, and to **_**KungFu Jedi**_** for giving me a lot to think about for the future of this story. **

**I've also had some questions about the letter that was sent to Christine. In this chapter, all will be revealed on that subject. So I'd better let you read and quit making the word count bigger!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, no, Phantom does not belong to me. But my heart obviously belongs to the Phantom...**

**And now, the chapter you've all been waiting (and demanding) for!**

**Chapter 4: Mistakes**

_Silence._

_He hated it and loved it with equal passion for the same reason: It reminded him that he was all alone in the world, that he would be for the remainder of his life. He'd always preferred his solitude over company ever since he had come to live at the Paris Opera House, until the day he fell in love with the girl who knew him as her Angel of Music. How low he had stooped then. . . ._

_But that was nothing compared to what he was about to do now._

_At the time, when he had trained young Christine to sing like an angel, he'd thought he could sink no lower. Erik had taken advantage of her grieving, calling out to her from the mirror, pretending to be the Angel of Music her father had promised to send. Erik had been weak then, drawn to her with purpose, with longing, unable to stay away. There was nothing worse than lying to a child in their innocence._

_And now that she was a young adult, his selfishness seemed to have only grown, become a monster with a demanding appetite. He was about to make her life so much more difficult._

_How had he come to resort to his old ways again? Why couldn't he stray from them and just leave well enough alone? It was not his place to step in, not his place to ruin her happiness, and yet a little voice in the back of his mind that he assumed must be his conscience told him over and over that he had every right to. He loved her much more than that foolish patron! It should be him at her side, taking her around Paris, showing her how to become a star once more. . . . Not that insolent boy._

_Yet here he stood, alone. No one would stand by _him_, no one would die for _him_, and no one would ever love _him_. How many times did he have to tell himself that to finally believe it and move on? Apparently more than he had already done. Far more._

_With an agitated sigh, he dropped the envelope that bore his seal, and watched it twirl to the floor below. He didn't see the look on her face as she picked it up, but he knew she must be terrified to see the blood red skull again. The letter was proof of his return, and she wouldn't think twice about it. He turned away before she could look up and search for him amongst the shadows. Madame Giry had served him well once upon a time; why would she not do it again?_

_He waited for what seemed an eternity back in his lair, though the only clock he owned revealed that it had only been a few hours. After the first few minutes, he had begun to pace back and forth across the stone floor to calm his impatience. Would she refuse to tend to his every whim after all? Was she such a coward that she couldn't face him, couldn't come to tell him that she wouldn't do as he wished her to? He hoped she knew that if she played with fire, she would surely get burned without question._

_But his anger was for nothing - he stopped when he heard her voice call out to him. He turned to see her standing in the boat outside the gate. Had he been so lost in thought that he hadn't even heard her coming?_

_He rushed over to the switch, and in the next second, the gate had risen, and she made her way through the murky green water in the small boat to where he stood with folded arms._

_"You're late," he announced as he watched her climb out with some difficulty, not bothering to assist her._

_If looks could have killed, the one she threw at him would have finished him right then and there. But, fortunately for him, they couldn't. "What did you expect, a celebration? I am no longer your servant, Erik. I do not have to listen to you, but for this one time, I will. Although, I have to tell you that everyone thought you'd gone for good. It's honestly disappointing to know that you're back!"_

_It took all his strength not to reach out and grab her throat for that last comment. He shook his head to clear his mind of the thought. He couldn't do that to her. He _wouldn't_. Not after everything she'd done for him in the past. Ironically, he chuckled. "Ah, Madame, the bird can only stay away from the nest for so long. But why I thought you'd welcome me with open arms is still unknown to me. I can see it in your eyes, Giry! You believed I would never return, never find my way back." With a wicked smile, he added: "Sorry to disappoint you." _

_He heard her sigh. "Erik, it is not for that reason I am so upset by your return. I'm truly glad to know you are safe."_

_The caged beast broke free from his chest, caged no longer. "I seek only the truth when I ask you why is it that you seem so saddened by my arrival. Say it!"_

_She looked up at him, and for a moment, he thought she was going to break down into tears. But she just turned away. "I thought that you had found a way to live without her. I thought you'd finally found your place in the world, where you could live without fear of being discovered. You'd been gone so long. . . . I guess I was an old fool to think you'd never come back." She sniffed once. "You being here now proves that you haven't learned to live own your own. I suppose that's why you've come back: Because of her." She half-turned her head towards him, waiting for a reply._

_"Does it truly matter what my intentions were in coming here?" he found himself asking angrily after a heartbeat of silence. _

_"Yes," she said, turning around to fully face him once again. "Of course it matters! It means that you are still the same man I knew eight months ago, Erik. And you'll always be the same, won't you? You'll never change, never truly try to, unless she comes here herself and demands that you do so! You'll do anything she says, anything at all. I, on the other hand, cannot force you to go back out into the world and face reality, to find a way to live in peaceful solitude." She stared at him for the longest time, clearly seeing through him and his plan. "Bringing her back here won't change the past, Erik. You and I both know that."_

_"No," he agreed. "It won't. But that doesn't mean it can't change my future."_

_"At this point, __she__ won't _have_ a future, not if you bring her here!" Madame Giry folded her arms across her chest. "Are you willing to rob her of one, of one she greatly deserves after all you've done to her?"_

_"No!" he yelled out in frustration. His hands did not seem to know what to do with themselves, and kept hovering in the air, shaking, as if he wanted to throw something. He knew it was because Madame Giry was right. He'd done so much to her. "No. . ." he gasped. "I don't want to do that. I _never_ wanted that."_

_"Then why do you want her back now after you let her go free?"_

_He swallowed hard when he felt a lump rising in his throat. "Don't you understand? I was trying to save her, sever her soul from mine . . . because I love her," he replied in a whisper. "And I'd rather die than live with this pain, the pain of knowing that she can never _be_ mine. I've tried to forget her. Truly, I have. So long now that I have completely given up. I cannot let her go," he said simply._

_Madame Giry shook her head. "You're wrong. You _can_ let her go, Erik. The problem is you don't _want_ to." She sighed and gently put a hand on his arm. "Sometimes we have to give up what we want most. For you, it's Christine. You _have_ to let her go. She won't be where she truly belongs unless you do, Erik. If you love her, truly, madly, and deeply, you'll let her go."_

_He gently removed her hand from his arm. She couldn't possibly know he knew that was exactly what he had to do. But didn't she know he would give anything to be rid of the pain? A small part of him really wanted to let go, to forget Christine: It would mean a better life for her. But he just couldn't. His love for her was meant to last forever, whether she was with him or with someone else. And if he could never rid himself of the curse of love, it would leave him the day he died - that much he knew. So of course he would always long to be with her until that time came. He could live without her if he tried, but it had almost killed him to do so before. His heart had been torn from his chest, and he'd locked it away, deep inside himself. There had never been a key to set it free. _

_"It's not that simple," he replied, putting a hand to his masked face._

_"No, it isn't, but in time, you'll learn to let go."_

_He spun around to look at her. "_How_? How do I let her go? I've tried every way you can possibly imagine, believe me! I can't do this anymore, wait around to see myself fail. I've never failed at anything except winning her heart, the one thing I've wished to possess since I first heard her sing. I am to pay for that? Has God really deprived me of getting what I want? I am not _supposed_ to have what I want?" He could tell he was on the verge of tears, but he didn't care. He wanted answers to the questions that had plagued him every day of his lonely life._

_"Erik -" She took a step closer to him._

_He put a hand out in front of him to stop her. "No, do not say it! No one is sorry, not even her. . . ." He let himself trail off and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his control and steady his breathing. When he opened them again, he saw Madame Giry's eyes swimming with sadness as her brows pulled slowly together. _Pity,_ he thought. _More pity._ "You have to make the decision now, Madame: Will you help me, or not?"_

_He watched the battle rage on inside her mind, and it was her eyes that gave away her thoughts. Fear, pity, anger, worry, fear again. It was that fear, the fear for her daughter's life that must have made her say "I will" in such a strained voice. _

_He nodded once. "Good, very good."_

_She simply stared at him, waiting for him to tell her of the dreadful task he wished for her to accomplish._

_"Listen carefully," he said slowly. "I want you to write a letter to Christine, informing her of the Grand Reopening of the Opera House next Tuesday evening. From what I've heard, the managers want her to come back and perform again. Tell her it was them who requested for you to send the letter. Be persuasive. I would not want her to miss the amazing performance you have planned for it. Tell her nothing of my return. If she arrives, you'll be rewarded for your efforts. And you will do nothing to stop me, otherwise you will no longer be the ballet instructor here. Do you understand what I have told you?"_

_She hesitated to answer only for a second. Madame Giry's voice sounded tired, worn beyond her years. "As I always have and will."_

_He turned his back on her. "Have it ready by tomorrow morning."_

_She did not answer; she got back into the boat and prepared to set off. Just as she pushed away from the stone, he swore he heard her say, "If there was anyone in this world I thought could change, it was you."_

* * *

That conversation came back to Erik now, on the night of the Reopening, as he watched Christine from afar. She was with him, that foolish patron, sitting in _his_ box! How odd of that to happen! He would have to thank Madame Giry for giving him the pleasure of watching the Vicomte squirm in nervousness for his soon-to-be-wife. It was likely that she was the one who had booked the box for the pair, perhaps out of guilt for sending the letter of late. She didn't know he knew about that, but she needn't ever know about it now; she had saved herself from his rage without even knowing it.

Christine was so awed by the performance that she was the last to stand and applaud with the rest of the crowd when the performance was over. And she was the last one to stop.

He knew the boy hadn't watched one bit of the performance, but he didn't disappoint Christine: He was a good actor. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and then they made their way back to the entrance hall, where they met Meg and Madame Giry.

Before he knew it, Erik had positioned himself in the shadows, not far from the group. He seemed to be the only one who noticed Madame Giry's distress, for she was a great actress. But he knew her well enough to recognize her facial expressions; the others did not notice.

And to his surprise, he watched the boy hand over a sword to the older woman. Had he thought that a simple sword was enough to stop the Phantom of the Opera from taking what was, in his mind, rightfully his? That was the only precaution besides the guards the boy had taken to protect Christine? How daft _was_ he?

Erik thought almost no one could be more foolish than this young patron when he allowed Christine to go to the washroom unaccompanied. Of course he knew that the boy couldn't go with her, but he could have at least asked Meg to go along! But that mistake made Erik realize it was time to act.

When she saw his reflection in the mirror, her face went just about as white as his mask. And when she tried to scream for help, he immediately prevented her from doing so by putting his gloved hand over her mouth.

"Shh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "Is this any way to greet an old friend, Christine? You know I'm not going to hurt you."

She tried to scream again, but the black glove muffled the sound. He knew she was having trouble breathing, and when she went limp with unconsciousness, he felt an overwhelming surge of triumph: Everything was going according to plan, far better than he had hoped for. He smiled briefly at his luck.

He had no trouble disappearing from the room with Christine in his arms, and he even unlocked the door, just to give the Vicomte a little extra weariness when he discovered Christine was gone. Even if he brought the police to investigate her disappearance, Erik knew that the only conclusion they would come to was that she had simply evaporated into thin air. Of course, the young patron could tell them that she had been kidnapped, though Erik didn't know if he would dare mention that or his of suspicion that the Phantom of the Opera had returned to kidnap her. They would think him to be insane!

But he probably wouldn't even bother with the police. The boy would most likely take things into his own hands and come searching for her on his own, by which time they would already be far gone. And what would the Vicomte do then? Would he bring the police into the situation when he had nowhere else to turn, no other leads to go on?

Once safely back in his lair, Erik took Christine and gently laid her on the swan bed in his room. He knew she would regain consciousness shortly after she lay flat for a time. Once her blood flowed normally again, she would wake. And that's when they would leave.

He had everything ready, everything in place. Erik had made sure that there was no evidence of his recent activity down in the catacombs. He'd left a letter, twenty thousand francs, and a demand for Madame Giry - that she burn it after reading it. No one would be punished for his crimes, he would not have that on his conscience; it wasn't right. He hoped that she had enough sense to listen to him.

The Vicomte wouldn't know what hit him!

* * *

Music. Sweet, beautiful music. . .

She opened her eyes.

It took her a few moments to realize where she was - The music floated into the room, both oddly distracting and mesmerizing. When she did finally figure it out, everything came rushing back.

_"Shh. Is that any way to greet an old friend, Christine? You know I'm not going to hurt you. . ."_

All she remembered was falling into darkness. . . She must have fainted. But how long had she been out?

Christine walked out of the room and into the all-too-familiar world of night.

Everything was as she remembered it: the candles in their candelabras, the green water, the boat, the organ, the man. . .

_The man!_

She could tell it was him even though his back was facing her and she could not see his masked face. It was Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost. It was really him, back after all this time. . . Or had he ever left?

"Ah, Christine, my dear," that darkly familiar voice greeted. Erik hadn't even turned to see her; he was still playing the organ. "I thought it was about time for you to join me."

Why was he talking as if they were on a picnic in the park? He had kidnapped her! Why was he pretending that everything was normal? It wasn't even close to being normal! She was back in that universe of darkness, stuck there with Erik as her only companion, the master of the shadows, with no way to escape. . . .

"Erik. . ."

He stopped playing and turned to look at her, the masked side of his face revealed to her eyes, but did not say anything.

"Oh God, Erik. . . What have you done?" she whispered. She knew he could hear her, even though her throat seemed strangely dry.

He turned back to the organ, but ceased to play anymore. "What should have been done a long time ago, Christine. I'm taking back what I've been robbed of."

He hadn't changed, he wasn't different. He was still the same Erik she remembered. "You're the same pitiful creature of darkness I left that night of _Don Juan_," she spat with disgust.

He chuckled. "You know, you're the second person to tell me that . . . . But, no," he said, rising from the organ bench, "you're wrong. I have changed. My views on this situation, however, are just the same. I had an enlightened moment, I guess you could say, eight months ago." He waved his hand in the air for effect. "But as you already know, I am very selfish, Christine. And it's my time to collect."

Christine scoffed. "How could I have felt sorry for you?" She shook her head in disbelief. _What was I thinking?_

"I don't need your _pity_, Miss Daaé!" Erik growled unexpectedly, causing Christine to jump. For a minute, his eyes were ablaze with fury. Then he seemed to realize it was foolish of him. "Come, it's time for us to go."

Christine frowned. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice sounding almost tired, bored. She knew it was pointless for him to take her away. "Raoul will find me, wherever we go."

His only visible brow rose as he began to walk towards her. "Is that so? He wouldn't have found you that night of _Don Juan _if not for one of my silly mistakes. But I have been careful not to make the same ones again. This time, I've been more thoughtful, more precise, taken all necessary precautions. He'll be lucky to even find a trace of your existence once we're on our way. Now," he said, stopping just about a half a foot from her, "you will be silent, otherwise I will have resort to a different method of keeping you quiet. Of course, you'll be blindfolded. If I had any other choice, I wouldn't force this on you, but you'll soon find I have no choice. Are you willing to cooperate?"

Almost instantly, she wanted to tell him that there was no use in asking her that question because she would put up a fight. But she knew better than to refuse when you were talking to someone like Erik. "Yes," she said sadly.

He smiled. "Then close your eyes, my dear, and we'll be there before you know it."

The last thing Christine saw before she obeyed his command was the smug, victorious look on his face.

* * *

It had been over fifteen minutes now. How long did it take for a woman to use the washroom?

Raoul was still waiting in the entrance hall for Christine to return. Most of the guests had already made their departure, but some had stayed behind to chat for a couple minutes before heading home. A few on their way out had waved at him, and he'd waved back with a forced smile upon his lips, trying to put names with the semi-familiar faces.

But he quickly lost interest with that as the minutes ticked by. She would have been back by now. The clock was pushing twenty minutes since she had left him waiting at the bottom of the marble stairs.

Perhaps she had locked herself in? He smiled at the thought of her pouting face and her arms folded across her chest. Checking on her wouldn't hurt, would it?

Raoul took to the stairs. It was getting rather late and they needed to get home; he'd told the maids they'd be out late, but he needed to check on them to make sure they had gone to sleep. They still had chores to do tomorrow morning, and he couldn't have them falling asleep halfway through their work.

He climbed the last stair and walked the short distance down the hall to the ladies' washroom. He leaned towards the door and knocked. "Christine?" he called. "It's time to go. The carriage is waiting, and you know how the driver is. Are you ready?" He leaned closer, trying to hear a reply.

He didn't.

"Christine, come on, enough games," Raoul said with a small smile. "I know you're in there, and you're probably laughing at me right now. It's time to go."

Silence answered his call.

He frowned. Surely Christine would have answered him? He could no longer ignore the feeling of dread that was slowing spreading over him, or of his blood turning cold in his veins. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to open the door or not, afraid of what he would find. But if Christine was somehow stuck in there, she needed him to get her out. Raoul grabbed the knob and turned it; it seemed to be the longest ten seconds of his life.

When he had fully opened the door, it was just as he had feared: The room was empty, which meant Christine was missing.

**Man, am I the master of cliff-hangers or what? Well, this one wasn't as good as the one at the end of chapter 3 in my opinion, but I still kind of think it ends on a good cliff-hanger-y type of note. Some of you probably hate me for leaving you hanging on the whole Erik-Christine thing, but just wait and see. I'm not even sure what's going to happen next! And please review, review, review!**


	5. Paradise

**A/N: It's great to finally have another chapter posted for you all to read! I am so sorry that I have not gotten this up sooner, because I was excited to see how you all would review for it, but sadly, I had a bad spat of illness, which I am now almost completely over. I hope this chapter makes up for your long wait.**

**I really do hope you guys like where this story is headed. The idea just sort of . . . . fell into my hands when I was plotting out where Erik was going to take her. I'm rather fond of this location, and I know without having to ask all you Erik lovers out there after you've read it, that you will love it too. Although, you may want to throw virtual rocks at me once you've read it, but no worries! :)**

**Disclaimer: What is this, the fifth time I've had to say that I don't own Phantom? Geez, you'd think once was enough! How many more times am I going to have to say that I don't own anything remotely related to Phantom? It's so **_**depressing**_**! *bursts into tears* **

**Wow, fifth chapter **_**already**_**!****The days are blurring into weeks for me. Anyone else feel like times going by way too fast? Anyway, without further ado, here is the chapter you've all been waiting for!**

**Chapter 5: Paradise**

"Well, _excuse_ you, Monsieur!"

He ignored both the woman's tone and comment as he sprinted past her. Was there really any point in being polite, in apologizing, when you were in a hurry? When someone's life depended on how fast you ran to get help? When everything was at stake because you'd bet your loved one's life in a deadly game of cards with a criminal mastermind that you couldn't afford to lose to?

How could he have been so blind, so foolish, and so completely and utterly _stupid_? He'd come as protection for Christine, as a shield to guard her from believing what had seemed like such a slim chance of happening only minutes before, what he had believed. He'd bet it all on that one hand of cards.

Christine being kidnapped made Raoul realize that she was no longer safe in Paris. That she had never been, even after the Opera House had burned to the ground, after the supposed disappearance and death of the Phantom of the Opera. They would have to leave Paris, start a new life somewhere where no one knew either of them, where no one who did would ever find them again. . . .

It would just be the two of them.

He could not help but feel that Christine had been taken not by chance or coincidence, but purposefully. Her captor had undoubtedly planned, mapped, and scoped everything out before making his move. He was a genius, this man.

_"But clearly, genius has turned to madness."_

He skidded to a halt and looked around at a few unfamiliar faces. Was he too late? Had they already left? Did he have no chance at saving Christine from a doomed life with the Phantom now?

"Monsieur, what are you still doing here at this late hour? And where is Christine?"

Raoul spun around so fast that he almost collided head-on with Madame and Meg Giry. He sighed in relief while trying to catch his breath, for which he doubled over and put his hands on his knees to steady himself. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and he could not seem to get enough air. "She . . . went to the . . . washroom and . . . never . . . came out," he gasped. "Was worried . . . went to go find her . . . wasn't there. She's gone."

Madame Giry took in the sight of the man bending over in exhaustion, his words, and realized at once what this meant: Erik had succeeded. He'd taken Christine.

He always got what he wanted, always had his way; she knew that, had known it from the start.

Why was she so surprised, then?

She did not answer Raoul, just stood there waiting for him to catch his breath as his words caught up with her thoughts; he was the only one who knew of her involvement with the Phantom besides her daughter, who she could never seem to keep from the secret passageways of the Opera House.

Raoul coughed a couple of times and then stood, his breathing a little slower than before. His eyes were pleading, begging her to listen. "Please, Madame, show me the way. Help me spare her life."

Her gaze lowered to the floor, bearing nothing but a look of sadness mixed with regret. Once again, the situation had gotten out of her control, and once again, she would have to betray Erik for one moment in the hopes of saving a life, the same life she had helped save so long ago. Had she raised Christine only to hand her over to Erik when she turned of age? It had seemed like it then, and so now it did again. History seemed to be repeating itself quite a lot all of a sudden.

Would she pay for her betrayal? That much she was almost certain of; Erik would never waste an opportunity to take his revenge upon others, even if it was on someone like herself, who believed that she was the closest thing he had to a real companion. And there was no way she could keep it from him, not forever. He always knew about everything. But wouldn't the punishment would be worse if Raoul failed?

She just hoped that he reached them in time.

Taking a deep breath and nodding once, Madame Giry said, "Alright come with me, Monsieur. Quickly, before it's too late."

As her mother turned on her heel and began running as if her life depended on it with Raoul at her side, Meg followed behind them, ignoring her mother's pleas for her to stay in the entrance hall until she returned alone.

Her best friend's life depended on how fast they ran, and Meg wasn't going to miss anything this time. Not for a friend.

* * *

"Christine. . . ."

Her eyes snapped open as the voice filled her mind. She could not see anything except the blindfold that was still wrapped over her eyes, but could still sense him nearby; she no longer felt the gentle swaying of the carriage beneath her. Why had they stopped? And why wasn't he up on the driver's seat?

"Where are we?" she asked groggily, lifting her head slowly from the back of the seat.

She heard him chuckle. "Ah, Christine," he said; she could almost see him shaking his head back and forth at her in her mind's eye. "One would think you'd learn, after being disappointed again and again with the same answer, that one would know not to ask a meaningless question such as that." He chuckled again. "You are just as naive as I remember." His tone was mocking, but somehow light-hearted at the same time. How was that possible?

Regardless of his tone, the words added fuel to the dying fire within her that yearned to engulf him in red-hot flames. She struggled to get her tied hands free, but could not release them from the binds that held them. Had she thought, even for one moment, that Erik would not bind her efficiently? That she would be able to escape? "Perhaps I am to you," she said. "But at least I do not mock those less fortunate."

"Less fortunate is what you are? Is that what you truly think?"

Christine knew at once that there was something wrong by the tone of his voice. She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, knowing what was to come next.

He scoffed. "You do not know the meaning of the words that have left your mouth, for you have never had a mother who feared and loathed you, who was so ashamed of you that she could not bear the sight of your face, and would lock you up in a room all day to prevent you from frightening someone out on the street. No, you cannot say that you are less fortunate because you had a father who cared for and loved you more than anything in the world. He would have made it snow, if it would have made you happy; you know that. But there comes a time for everyone when we are no longer permitted to live in this cruel, beautiful world. And so you lost your best friend and father to Death. You had your time with him, and now he lives in a world far better than this one."

She was surprised by the cold, dead tone of his voice. It was chilling to the bone how he talked to her sometimes, how he turned his voice into a seductive tool without her realizing it. She kicked herself mentally for falling for his tricks again. Ironically, she flashed him a small smile, though she couldn't see his reaction to it or her next choice of words. "Naive I am no longer, Erik. I know all of your tricks, all of your strategies. What makes you think you can get away with kidnapping me?"

She heard him sigh. He sounded tired, as if he was a highly-stressed old man. "Have you ever thought that perhaps it's not you I want anymore, Christine?" he asked coldly. "Have you ever thought, since that dreadful night so long ago, that perhaps I've moved on, found better things to fill my life and mind than a spoiled prima donna who cowers in fear at the sight of my face?"

This was pointless; they were going to get nowhere at this point. They could go on forever if they wished to in the halted carriage. But Christine was just as tired as he seemed to be, and wished for nothing more than for the blindfold to be removed from her eyes. She felt robbed of her senses as long as she had it on, especially when Erik forced his voice inside her skull. "I'm not afraid of you," she murmured so low that at first she thought he hadn't heard her, for he did not speak for several minutes. She knew she must have sounded extremely pitiful to him, for her voice seemed small to her.

Then he chuckled. "Such courage you have for a young woman. I imagine you must be lying, for how could you possibly not fear me? You have in the past, even at times when you seemed not to. . . ." He trailed off, refusing to utter the rest of his unspoken thoughts. _When you showed me that a simple kiss shared between two people who were never destined to be could overpower anything in the entire world._ He lowered his face to his hands for a few brief seconds, lost only fleetingly in the moment that had changed his life.

Why was he taking all this out on her? It wasn't her fault that she still despised him; he was mostly responsible for that. He couldn't blame her for the feelings she had toward the Vicomte, either. It was the boy's fault that she had fallen in love with anyone other than the Opera Ghost. But mostly, it was he, Erik's fault, for he had practically handed her over willingly by revealing his awful temper to the poor girl. He'd never been good with admitting things were his fault. He'd always blamed someone else for the things he'd done wrong.

Just as he still blamed the young patron for stealing the heart that rightfully belonged to him. It was easier that way.

Christine blinked several times to get her eyes to readjust to light as the blindfold was finally and suddenly removed; as she had suspected, they were still in the carriage. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and Erik was sitting opposite her, which suddenly and painfully reminded her of Raoul. She did not know what time it was, but knew that he would have discovered the empty washroom by now.

"Come," he said suddenly, sliding towards the door. Placing his hand on the handle, he looked back at her with an almost expectant expression upon his face. "There is something I want to you to see before we head inside."

Frowning in curiosity, she slid towards the door and let him assist her in stepping out into bright, blinding sunlight: It was morning.

The first thing that met her eyes was the house.

She'd never seen anything bigger or more beautiful in all her life. It was astonishing, breathtaking, and so amazingly radiant that she wanted to find the architect and give him all the fame and fortune he deserved for designing such a precious gem for her eyes to lie upon. It was perfect in every way to her, which only caused a yearning to see the interior design. She knew it had to be just as brilliant inside as it was out.

A huge sweep of land wrapped around the house, baring many different kinds of exotic plants of all different shapes, sizes, and colors. She felt as if she could have looked at the scene forever and never have gotten over such an awesome sight.

"What is this place?" she asked breathlessly, unable to shift her gaze to look at him next to her.

"Paradise." His tone was lifeless, as if he did not care that he was looking at the most unique scene ever created on the face of the Earth. He drew a knife from within the folds of his cloak and cut the binds that held her hands behind her back in one swift, clean stroke.

Christine rubbed her wrists, only partially aware of the pain. She followed just behind him in some sort of trance as he made his way through the small cleared paths between the rows of multi-colored flowers; mixed herbal smells filled her nostrils as she passed. Erik seemed to know his way around the small patches, and led her to the outer rim of the plants where she saw a gap in the undergrowth just a bit bigger than the size of a door, which had obviously been cut to get to whatever lay beyond. The top was rounded off, which gave a nice effect to the scenery.

Erik stood there for a moment, gazing beyond the entrance into the undergrowth, entranced by something she could not yet see. She saw a collage of emotions flit across his face before he took a hesitant step forward. In that moment, he seemed so out of place in the small little fantasy world he brought her to that she wondered how he'd even known about it in the first place. She trailed slowly behind, somehow knowing that he needed a minute alone.

When she emerged from the path to stand at his side, her mouth fell open slightly. A small field of red and white roses seemed to have popped up from the ground at her arrival, for they all looked so fresh, so . . . _alive_. "It's beautiful," she found herself saying. "No, that's not the right word. . . . It -"

"- belongs to you," Erik intercepted gently. "Every single rose petal."

"It's mine?" she asked in an awed whisper. "But . . . how? Why?"

Kneeling to the ground, he grabbed the stem of a red rose and cut it with the knife he hadn't bothered to stow back beneath his cloak. Taking it gently in his gloved hand, he rose slowly, taking the time to pick all the thorns off the thick, healthy, green stem. "It's yours because roses are your favorite, are they not?" he asked simply, handing over the rose to her, watching her expression carefully. "I made this place. All of it . . . because of you, for you."

Christine suddenly realized that birds were chirping all around her, hiding up in the trees, fond of the morning atmosphere. One swooped low over the rose garden, looking for insects of any kind as an early morning meal.

She glanced back up at him. "Even the house? You built it?"

Erik sufficed a small smile. "Seeing as I asked for no help, yes, I built it on my own. Even if I had needed assistance, which I did not, I would have done it myself." He took one last sweeping look at the garden, one at her, and then turned back to the path unexpectedly.

Christine couldn't help but take one last look at the rose garden before following after Erik, rose still in hand.

When she caught up with him at the entrance, he continued on as if he had never stopped. "I stumbled upon this place and envisioned all this," he said, waving his arm in a wide arc, "and all of the wonderful things I could do here. You were my inspiration, and so I vowed that one day I'd bring you here, show this to you. Look at what you've helped me to create."

Christine was truly awed by the place all over again as she obeyed his request. She couldn't remember ever seeing a place like this, even in her dreams. There was just nothing like it.

"And so now I believe that a monster _can_ create something beautiful, however ugly it may be," he concluded. "I am living proof of that."

"Erik -"

He cut her off immediately, pretending he hadn't heard her speak his name. "I will give you a tour of the house, show you to your room, and allow you to get comfortable. I will only make you join me this evening for dinner." He paused for a second to look from the house to her, and back again. "I think you will find the room to your liking."

She didn't know what to say to that; Erik was acting as if she were just visiting him, like he was an old friend of hers. This was not going to be an enjoyable stay at all for her if he was going to act as if nothing was wrong with the current arrangement.

As Christine followed him up the front of the house, she noticed how comfortable and at ease he was. When he'd gotten out of the carriage, a huge weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. But she could still tell that something was bothering him, and she knew what it was.

But how could a Phantom, particularly one who dwelled in darkness, live in a world of light?

* * *

"Do you require my assistance any further, Mademoiselle?"

Christine looked back up at the maid from her sitting position on the edge of the bed. "No," she said in such a sad tone that the maid frowned. Then she asked, "What's your name?"

"Oh." The woman looked as if she was caught completely by surprise at her question, expecting a different one entirely. "It's Amelia, miss." She looked away nervously, as if she had just done something very wrong.

It was Christine's turn to frown. "Amelia. . . ." The name seemed to roll oddly off her tongue, but she thought the name itself was beautiful.

How long had Erik tortured this young girl who seemed to be only a few years older than Christine herself? Had he forced her to cook and clean for him, knowing that one day he would surely come back with a prisoner? She looked so thin that she might as well have been homeless out on the street, begging passerby for money and food.

Perhaps that was where Erik had found her.

Some of it seemed to come together, a few more puzzle pieces added, save for the few she still had to put together to finish the whole picture. The ones she would have to fight for to get, to understand why she had been kidnapped by Erik and brought here to be with him.

"I shall inform my master that you will be down for dinner shortly," Amelia said, and she turned on her heel and disappeared behind the door.

Christine sighed and looked around the room once more.

It was far bigger than any she'd ever slept in or called her own. The large closet in the corner was filled with an assortment of dresses that seemed almost too expensive even for her taste, and wondered how Erik had managed to guess her size. The more she pondered it, the more she didn't want to know.

It crushed her heart to know that he still thought himself to be a monster, however true it might be.

_"And so now I believe that a monster _can_ create something beautiful, however ugly it may be. I am living proof of that."_

She did not think of him as a monster; she believed that he was just a lost soul, looking for someone to shed some light in his world of dark. To show him the way out of his ghastly anger and despair, and show him what happiness was like, how to have a good time and smile and laugh. . . .

But who could show him those things? Did he think _she_ could? Is that why he'd kidnapped her? Was that truly why?

Christine stopped herself there. She did not want to think about the current situation. She wanted to think about Raoul, and how he would take her absence. Her eyes began to water up as his angered voice filled her mind. He would stop at nothing to ensure her safety, would stop at nothing to return her home in his arms, in one piece. . . . _Alive_.

Her thoughts were cut off completely at the sound of music floating up to her room from the floor below. At once, it seemed to be beckoning her, calling her to come closer, that there was no danger to fear. And at once, she found herself walking past the side table with a water-filled vase holding the rose Erik had give her on top, and towards the door, her hand reaching out for the knob, ready to turn it and follow the music. . . .

A voice in the back of her mind screamed at her as she made her way down the hall, and began to descend the flight of stairs. _Don't listen to it! He's just luring you in! He's done it before! For God's sake, Christine, look at yourself!_

But the voice was extinguished; Christine had no desire to listen to a screeching little voice when she could listen to the music that was offering something grand, something even she did not know of. Something bigger and better than anything she'd ever owned. . . .

She found herself in the dining room, walking towards the man with the white mask sitting at the piano, his hands flowing over the keys as if he knew all the secrets of making it produce such beautiful music. He did not seem to acknowledge her presence until her hand touched the left side of his face. He closed his eyes and seemed to lean into her touch as he continued playing without even looking at the keys he fingers touched.

"Christine. . . ."

That's when she realized just what she was doing. She drew her hand away from his face as if she had just been burned by a white-hot iron.

The music ceased. She watched his expression carefully, fully aware that he could lose his temper. Her breath quickened without her permission.

Time seemed to stop completely when he rose from the bench and turned to face her. She looked at that face for far too long, time had to have stopped. . . .

He took a deep breath and then gestured to the table on his right. "Please, take a seat." He was wearing his usual black attire, from head to toe, but Christine noticed that he was not wearing the cloak. It seemed odd to look at him, as if he was not fully clothed without it.

She did as she was told and took a seat at the mahogany table. Until now, she hadn't noticed a thing about the room.

It was very dim, for it was nearly dark outside, but perhaps it wouldn't have been in the room if not for the black curtains thrown over the windows. There were candles everywhere, though most were unlit, on every available surface. The fire place behind the opposite end of the table was void of fire, but just as she took note of how cold it seemed in the room and wished it was crackling, it suddenly was.

"I apologize for the temperature," he said, moving to light all the unlit candles next. "It must seem like winter to you in here, it's just that I've become very used to the cold. I hope you do not mind. My cloak is on the chair if you become too chilled." He pointed with one hand towards her chair.

Christine turned to look and found that he was right: It was as if it just appeared out of thin air. She did not remember feeling the fabric on her bare arms only seconds before, nor did she remember seeing it before sitting down. She pulled it over herself without a second thought, for it was far too cold to be over-thinking things.

In the next second he had moved to the middle of the table and lit a small candelabrum, which was the last to be lit.

"Ah," he said with a smile. "Brings a nice feeling to the room, don't you think?"

Christine only nodded, and when he turned away from her, she did not expect him to reposition himself at the piano. She had thought he was going to dine with her. But then, _why_ had she thought that?

"You are very quiet this evening," he noted, as he began to play a different song, a much lighter song. He turned his head slightly towards her, as if waiting to hear a response. "Is there something troubling you?"

She hesitated for a moment before answering. Did she really want to start something now? Asking him would only make him angry, she knew that much. Was there really any point in asking then? She didn't know the exact answer, but she could live without it. Curiosity won out in the end. She took a deep breath, and looked up at him. "Erik, why have you brought me here?" she asked slowly.

The music came to an abrupt stop. "I thought that much was obvious to you," he said without turning to look at her. "I thought that was the one thing you knew, no doubts surfacing in your mind about it." How could she not know? He'd _told_ her!

"I . . . don't understand," she said, shaking her head. Why would she have asked if she'd known the answer? And why did he seem so infuriated?

He sighed, pushed himself up from the bench, and came to stand at her side. "Let's go, right now," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her from the chair. "You need to understand."

"Erik, where are we going?" she asked as he tugged her along out into the hall and through the front door.

"The rose garden," he replied in a dangerous voice that did not belong to him.

The rose garden. . . . Why did he have to explain it to her there instead of in the house? But it did seem much warmer once outside, so she pulled the cloak off with her free hand and threw it over the same arm as she was towed along behind him.

He practically began to run once they reached the entrance of the little cleared path, and she almost tripped in the shoes she was wearing. Just as she was about to tell him to slow down, they stopped. They were in the garden.

To her surprise, he dropped her arm at once and turned away from her, his breathing very heavy. It was only a few seconds later when he turned towards her with an expression on his face that she had not seen there in a long time: desperation.

He looked directly at her, not quite knowing what to do with himself. "Answer this question for me, Christine: Why did I bring you here?" He looked at her expectantly.

Her face went blank. "I don't know," she said. "That's why I asked. I just wanted to know. Erik, you don't have to answer the question. We can go back in the house. The food -"

" -will be fine until we return," he finished impatiently. "Amelia is good with her hands. She'll know where we are." He took a deep breath. "Why do you think I made this place?"

"B - because of me," she said. He'd _told_ her that much.

"Precisely," he said. "Then why did I bring you here?" He was looking at her like she was the last person in the world who could understand, who could put the pieces together, as if she was his last hope.

"Because . . . because I inspired you. . ."

"Yes, go on," he urged.

What more could there be? "I inspired you to build this place, and you wanted to show it to me once it was finished."

"Yes, but why?" He took a few steps closer to her in excitement of her discovering what she didn't know she already knew.

What did he want her to say? There was an expectant silence as she tried to put two pieces together that refused to fit. "I don't know, Erik," she finally said, shaking her head back and forth. How could she possibly know what he wanted to hear?

He knelt to the ground and let out a grunt of frustration. Grabbing a red rose in his black gloved hand and yanking, he stood and held it out. "Why did you inspire me to build this place? _Think_, Christine! You know!" He shook the rose for emphasis.

And then she suddenly knew what he wanted her to understand. She immediately began shaking her head and took a few steps back. "No, Erik. You can't, you don't -"

"Yes, yes I do! I _always_ have, Christine! You know, I told you. . . ." He lowered the rose as uncertainty washed over him. "You know that I do."

Christine sighed. "Erik, you don't love me. This is obsession, nothing more, nothing less. It just isn't possible -"

"- for a monster to love? For a monster to _want_ to be loved?" He was waving his arms around wildly while he asked her these questions.

She looked away. "That is not what I said," she said in a small voice.

"But it is what you _meant_," Erik countered. He threw the rose to the ground and turned to stalk back towards the house.

Christine did not bother to follow him; she bent down to pick up the crumpled rose with a shaking hand, and saw a few red droplets on the stem. She let the tears fall freely down her cheeks as she held the rose in one hand and his cloak in the other.

* * *

"Calm down, Monsieur. I'm sure we'll be able to find her."

He shook his head. "No, you don't understand, _he_ took her, Madame! That madman took her right out of my hands without me knowing it! His vacant lair just proves that he's taken her somewhere, most likely _outside_ of Paris. How can you not see that?" It was plain as day to him!

Madame Giry shook her head and then looked down at her feet. She sighed. "The Phantom has been gone for quite some time. His empty lair only proves that he hasn't returned since he fled."

Raoul sighed angrily, putting a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes. "Nothing else makes sense. It must have been him, I'm sure of it. There is no one else who knows the corridors of the Paris Opera House better than he, besides you, Madame. And you have told me you've heard nothing or received anything to make you believe that he is still alive. Are you quite sure of that, Madame?"

She nodded. "Yes, yes I'm sure." She couldn't betray him this time. No, she did not approve of Erik's decision to kidnap poor Christine, but perhaps she could learn to love him in time, and he would finally have what he wanted most. He could be happy for the first time in his life, if that was possible for him after everything that had happened.

"Then please enlighten me," Raoul said with a wave of his hand, which brought her back to reality. "How do you suggest we go about finding her?"

Madame Giry frowned. She could not refuse to help him, for he would surely know she had been in contact with the Phantom. Knowing Erik, she knew he could be on the other side of the world by now. He didn't ever miss a step. But how did you go about searching for a Phantom that had, until now, kept to the shadows, unseen? He could be anywhere, in dark _or_ light.

"The paper," she finally said. "Offer a reward for the information on the whereabouts of Christine Daaé." He had more than a fair share of money, and this was a way in which he couldn't tie her name into the situation. She would keep her loyalty to Erik for as long as she could. In a way, it had actually been fortunate for her that Raoul had not found Erik when she'd shown him passage down to his lair; this could buy her some more time.

Raoul removed his hand from his eyes and opened them to stare at Madame Giry as if he could not believe his ears. "Now _that_," he said, lifting a finger in thought, "is a brilliant idea." Times were hard in Paris. People would make it their business to know where Miss Daae was if there was enough money involved.

Madame Giry sighed, knowing just how much he was willing to offer. It could lead him to false trails and high tempers, or worse, trouble. "Offer wisely," she warned.

Raoul headed for the door. "I don't have much choice on the matter, do I?" Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door and disappeared from her flat before she could object.

_Oh, you have a choice, Raoul DeChagny. I just hope you make the right one._

**A/N: Any and all reviews are welcome. I will also answer any questions anyone has about this story. Thanks for reading! :)**


	6. Up in Flames

**A/N: Here we are at chapter six. This was a fun chapter to write, and I would like to dedicate it to **_**sprinkledwithpearls**_** and **_**peaceloveandchrist**_** for their wonderful reviews, comments, unwavering support, and for getting my creative brain juices flowing when I needed them to. Thank you both so very much!!**

**Also, to anyone who reviewed, a great thanks goes out to you as well. You've kept me determined to continue this story. And, as always, I would love to know what you think. So please review.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Phantom, just so we're clear on that subject.**

**Chapter 6: Up in Flames**

_A fifty thousand franc reward has been offered for any details concerning the disappearance of the young Christine Daaé. She was last seen on Tuesday evening at the Grand Reopening of the Paris Opera House wearing a long white dress in the entrance hall. Contact the nearest police station if you have any valuable information on this unfortunate occurrence. _

In a blaze of furry, he threw the paper across the room. A vase was knocked from its stand and shattered when it met the floor. Shards bearing its design flew in every direction.

After leaving the Girys' flat, Raoul had gone straight to the police station. He'd told the chief of police everything that had happened, but had skimmed over his suspicion of the Phantom of the Opera kidnapping Christine. He had taken what Raoul had said seriously, for women did not go into washrooms and just disappear into thin air. The chief of police had agreed to look into it further, but Raoul believed that it was only out of interest.

Raoul knew no one would have any information on her whereabouts. Already that evening he'd received several visits from people out on the street who claimed to have seen Christine, all in different locations. And the paper had only been printed that afternoon! But apparently more people had known about his engagement to Christine than he had originally thought.

Sinking into a chair, he realized that Madame Giry had been trying to warn him. She had known he would make a mistake, had known he would offer far too much. Why hadn't she stopped him, then? Once Raoul thought about it, he realized he hadn't given her much time to. He'd rushed out the door in a hurry to get the article in the paper. He'd even had to offer some extra money to get it in on such short notice. Luckily, it had been on the front page for all of Paris to see.

But rereading it only made his blood boil. He had not expected to hear anything for a few days, let alone a few hours. The stories were so ridiculous that Raoul knew they had to be conjured up by their imaginations. Anyone who was desperate for money could come up with the most amazing stories.

The Vicomte just wished that he had something to go on, something to _do_. He felt useless just sitting there.

"Anita!" he shouted. "Mary!"

A few seconds later, he heard two pairs of footsteps on the stairs. The maids rushed down to the front room to where he was sitting, their faces seeming worn, breathing heavily. He knew they were stressed from him handing out orders so frequently, but he needed something to shout about, to keep him occupied. He felt as if he was waiting for an absolution that would never come.

"Have you done everything I've asked of you?"

They both nodded, to breathless to answer verbally.

He sighed. "You may take the rest of the evening to do as you like. The same goes for the others."

Raoul watched them make their way much slower up the staircase, whispering quietly to each other. He sighed again and stared into the fire-place where a fire was roaring.

As he stared into the center of the flames, Raoul thought that, only for a moment, he could see a masked man laughing back at him, the broken vase completely forgotten.

* * *

_This must have been why_, Christine thought sadly. _This must have been why he took me. After all this time, he still has the desire to possess what he knows doesn't belong to him, what he knows he can never have. . . . _

She did not know how long she sat there, clutching both the cloak and rose to her chest, crying until she could cry no more, but knew she must have been there a long time, for the moon was high in the sky when she finally lifted her head from her awkward position on the ground.

Just how was she supposed to save Erik's soul without her own being torn apart by his wrath in the process? If she was even meant to save him at all? Somehow, Christine had a hard time believing she was destined to bring Erik out of his lonely life of solitude, for how could she? He had traveled too far into a world of darkness that she knew to be inescapable, and the only way to save him that made sense was to dive in after him.

But then how would she find her way out, and how could she bring Erik along with her? She didn't know her way around in the dark; she lived in a whole other world than he did.

And the fact that she could not get his voice out of her mind brought back all the fear she'd been trying so desperately to bury in the back of her mind, and had tried to convince herself that she was no longer afraid of him. But it wasn't true. As much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, or to Erik, she still feared him to an extent.

He'd been right.

"Miss, please, come inside now," a soft, gentle voice pressed against her ears. "It's dreadfully late."

The voice interrupted her hopeless thoughts, a voice that seemed to be trying to communicate with her through a solid brick wall, and Christine was surprised when she realized that it was not the voice she wanted to hear, despite all her fear.

"Miss?" the voice tried again cautiously.

Christine sniffed. So Erik hadn't had the decency to come and get her, and had sent his _maid_ to retrieve her instead? "Tell your master that I will not leave this spot until he comes to fetch me himself," she murmured rather stubbornly.

"Miss, please, listen," Amelia begged, and only the tone she spoke in made Christine look up in concern. "He's - he's not in his right mind. He came back to the house alone, and - and I asked him where you were, if he still wanted me to serve dinner, but he . . . just walked right past me up the stairs to his room. He was quiet for the longest time, but then there was crashing, and - and glass breaking. . . ." The maid shivered slightly despite the warm air. "You're the only one who can stop him, miss."

Christine stared up at Amelia for a few seconds before she began shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. "No, no he couldn't have. . . _No_! Erik. . . ." She was on her feet in less than a second, running and stumbling as fast as she could to the house in her unfit shoes. She noticed Amelia had a hard time keeping pace with her as she did.

Even though she didn't want to believe it, Christine knew just how capable Erik was of wrecking his room, and knew he could end up destroying the entire house if he wished to. But she couldn't let him destroy what meant so much to her, what she knew he must, deep down, undoubtedly feel the same about. He'd built it with his own two hands; he was the creator of her dream.

The memory of the shattered mirrors back in his lair at the Opera House suddenly floated into her mind, and she ran a little faster.

"When did this start happening?" Christine asked, wobbling up to the front door and bursting inside. Already she could hear the crashes from above.

"Just a few minutes ago," Amelia replied breathlessly. "Come with me, I'll show you the way."

Following just behind the maid, Christine made her way up the staircase, around the corner, and down the hall past her own room. Even though Erik had given her a tour of the house, he had - almost too noticeably - left his room out of it; she hadn't realized that the room at the far end of the hall belonged to him. It had been the only one he'd skipped over, she saw now.

Amelia stopped and only pointed to the door at the far end of the hall, proving Christine's assumption to be true, clearly too out of breath to say anything further. Christine dashed down the hall as fast as her legs would carry her, and stumbled into the door when her shoes caused her to trip. Her shaking hands struggled with the doorknob, and she even mumbled a few curses under her breath before the door finally gave way.

With a quick glance around the room, Christine could see that there were broken and shattered things all over the floor, all over the room, which she was sure had not looked like it did then before Erik had taken his uncontrollable anger out upon its contents. He did not even seem to acknowledge her presence when she burst inside, and grabbed a chair up in his hands, ready to smash it against the wall.

"Erik, don't!" she shouted, rushing towards him through all the rubble. Her shoe caught on something, and she closed her eyes, waiting to feel the sharp pain she knew would inevitably follow.

But it never came.

Christine gasped when she opened her eyes to find that she had fallen against him, still holding both the rose and cloak, and that he had caught her in his arms, preventing her from falling to the floor beneath their feet.

She had not expected him to catch her: He had been in a trance, out of his mind as Amelia had described him, ready to damage another untouched item to douse the fire that fueled his anger; breaking all his furniture had only seemed to add more wood to that fire, the fire that had begun burning without her knowledge.

And he'd just been holding the chair, so how could he possibly have caught her? Her mind was blank, and she couldn't think clearly: He was gazing down at her with such intensity that she finally had to look away.

Suddenly overly embarrassed by her fall, Christine took a small step back from him. "Thank you," was all she could think of to say before handing over the cloak, still avoiding his gaze.

Erik took his cloak back in a blurred daze: He hadn't even remembered dropping the chair, only catching her in his strong, steady open arms; it was as if his body had acted of his own accord. _Out of concern for her safety, or out of love? Or perhaps both?_ a small voice in the back of his mind couldn't help but ask. But it was as if the voice did not exist: Christine was still in the room, which meant Erik's focus was entirely on her.

"Are you alright?" he found himself asking automatically a few seconds later.

"I'm fine, Erik," she replied, "but the condition of this room is clearly not. And neither are you." Her eyes swept over the scene he'd created, her eyebrows rising at the extent of some of the damage. It was easy to see where he'd begun and where he'd stopped.

How could she not have heard the destruction of the room from out in the garden? Looking back up at him, she asked in a whisper, "Why did you do this?"

He looked away when the hurt look on her face instantly pierced his heart. He'd hurt her by destroying part of something she'd instantly fallen in love with at first glance, something that had revealed more beauty to her than she'd ever been able to imagine.

So why couldn't she fall in love with its creator?

He put a slightly shaking gloved hand to the bare part of his forehead. "Christine -"

"No, please, just answer my question," she cut in. She wanted the truth, and nothing but.

How could he disappoint her again? How could he dampen her already crushed spirit, which had been so light, so happy before he'd taken her? How did you go about telling the woman you loved that you'd lost control of your anger, knowing it would only bring them more sadness? He hadn't the right of warping her young, innocent soul eight months ago; what gave him the right to now by telling her the truth?

"The truth can be cruel," he said, looking away from her again. He draped the cloak over his arm. "There is no reason why you should have to hear it."

Christine laughed slightly. "You think I don't _deserve_ to hear it? By sparing my ears of said cruelty, you think it will be for the best? I've been deceived, and heard nothing but _lies_ for far too long, Erik! All I want to hear is the _truth_!" She saw his eyebrows knit together in what seemed to be shame. In a much softer tone, she said, "As long as I am unwillingly kept here, I wish to know the truth."

Erik's head snapped up at her remark, and his eyes locked with hers, his grey-green glare boring into her blue one. Those blue orbs had been burning with rage only a few seconds before, but he'd already put out that flame with his cold, heartless look. "'Unwillingly', you say? Let me inform you that I am by no means keeping you here, chaining you up to the wall at night, or even forcing you to do anything you don't wish to for the short time you've been here, nor will I as long as you are. If you truly wish to leave, then do not let me stand in your way. I will even help you pack your things, if you allow me to assist you.

"But you've overlooked a small problem. I only have but one question left for you, Christine: Where will you go if you don't know where you are?"

He saw that dawning realization flit across her face. She hid it well, and he would not have noticed if he had not been looking straight at her, for her eyes were what gave her away. The doubt and uncertainty were only present there for a short second, and then gone, as if they never had been to begin with.

"I will find my own way," she finally said, with nothing but determination in her voice.

"And if you should run into trouble?" he challenged.

She sighed. "Then what you believe so strongly in - destiny, fate - will have finally caught up with me. Perhaps I am meant to leave, and not meant to live long enough to find my way, but to die at the hands of a stranger. Perhaps it's for the best that I go. You have shown me what you wished to, and therefore, there is no longer any further reason for me to stay here under this roof. But promise me one thing, Erik: Promise me that you won't follow me. Just promise me this, and I will be on my way."

His face fell in shock. He shook his head slowly at first, and then more rapidly when her words sank in. "No, you can't ask me to do that, Christine. You know I can't live without knowing you're alright, without knowing you are safe on your own. You'll need protection, and even if I was to follow you, there is still a chance that I won't get to you in time if that need should arise."

Christine narrowed her eyes at him. He seemed to be talking in circles that she couldn't follow. "What is it that you're trying to say?"

"Don't leave," he said simply. "Stay here with me. Let me hear you sing again. Let me have the joy of teaching you once more."

Erik knew this small cry of desperation would likely be ignored. Christine could make her own decisions, for she was no longer the vulnerable little child he'd found mourning and crying for her dead father at the Opera House. No, she was much stronger now. The only reason why she still seemed vulnerable and childish was _his_ doing. He'd preserved the small child inside her, and having her with him was not going to mature her in any way. Erik was still clinging to the hope that she would stay because of the one thing he knew she could never feel for him, the one thing he felt for her, the feeling that would never be returned, shared, or cherished. . . .

Her eyes widened in surprise. He wanted her to stay with him, so that he could continue on with the lessons they hadn't had for almost a year? Christine had no desire to sing anymore, not after everything that had happened. She knew she wouldn't be _able_ to sing; not for Erik, not for anyone ever again. Her love for music was as good as dead. And she couldn't help but think that another lesson with the man she had thought to be an angel could overwhelm her after everything that had previously happened between them. How could she sing for a man who had deceived her, and had almost killed the man she loved? The past was overwhelming enough, and now it had come back to haunt her, to test her strength, to pull her under. . . .

"I don't think that's possible, Erik," she said slowly, and very carefully. "Too much has happened -"

"No, you're wrong," he interjected. "Not _enough_ has happened. And anything is possible. You just have to give whatever it may be a chance to prove itself worthy of a second one." He studied her closely. "Are you willing to give music that chance again, Christine? Are you willing to give me a chance to show you the reason why you loved music, why you still love it, despite everything you've said, everything you think?"

Christine stared up at him, straight down into his soul, completely unafraid of him for the first time in a long time. Why did he want her to sing again? There was nothing good she knew of that could come out of singing for him. She couldn't trust him; she never had, and couldn't help but think that he could be forcing the issue because of selfish reasons. He could parade her around, demanding that she sing for various crowds of people all over the world if he wanted. But if he truly cared for her, as he insisted he did, would he really put her through that?

She couldn't find anything in those grey-green orbs, couldn't detect any deception there, looked down at the piles of rubbish at her feet, and sighed. She began to question whether she was ill in the mind for even imagining what would happen if she were to agree, for even _considering_ agreeing to something as absurd as he had suggested. How could he even still _want_ to teach her after all this time?

The answer was there in her mind before she'd even asked herself the question. _He loves me. . . ._

The words seemed pushed together, seemed completely out of place in the same phrase. Each one was like a different color of paint, and mixing them together made the most unattractive color. Those words were not meant to be in the same sentence, let alone the same language.

"Why, Erik?" she finally asked. "_Why_?"

Erik sighed angrily. "Because I'm not willing to let you give up your dream of becoming a star, Christine, and I'll die before I see you retire and give in now."

Christine shook her head. "No. . . I meant, why did you do this? Why did you destroy this room, _your_ room?"

He avoided her gaze yet again. He knew she wouldn't give up asking until she had an answer that satisfied her. She was stubborn, very much like himself, and it annoyed him to no end.

"I will answer your question once you've answered mine, Erik."

Was that the only way he was going to get her to answer him, by answering _her_ question first? How was that fair?

_You've never been fair to her, so why should you expect anything less in return?_

Erik had become so used to the voices in his head that he wondered if he had really heard anything at all after a moment. But he knew he really shouldn't expect anything other than unfairness from her. She had every right to hurt him, to betray him, to destroy the place he'd built for her out of love.

But she had not, and would not in the future. It was everything she'd dreamed of, all wrapped up into one beautifully unique paradise.

"Because . . . I hurt you, Christine," he whispered, closing his eyes to prevent the tears that were rising from sliding over the edge. "I hurt you in ways that no human being should ever have to suffer, and yet you have. _I_ did that. _I_ hurt you. And I'm so, so unbelievingly sorry. . . . You'll never know how much I truly am."

Christine felt her heart break when he sank to the floor and his body wracked with quiet sobs. She instinctively took a step towards him.

"No," he gasped without looking up. "Do not show pity for me. I need to be alone."

Christine stood there for a second longer, and then she turned and headed for the door. She stopped and looked back at him. "I'll think about your offer." With a guilty feeling weighing her down, she walked out into the hallway.

When Erik was sure she had gone, he opened his eyes, pushed himself to his feet, and called for Amelia.

She came rushing into the room. "Yes, master?"

"Make Christine dinner," he ordered. "Nothing for me. I will be cleaning up this mess, and no one is to disturb me while I do. Is that understood?"

The maid nodded and left the room with an anxious look.

Erik threw on his cloak and immediately began to gather all of the broken items into one pile in the middle of the room. For the next half an hour, he carried the useless things out into the night to form a new pile. After adding a decent amount of brush, he started a fire.

It took no time at all for the flames to spread. He kneeled down in front of it and watched his possessions burn, heard the fire crackle, and felt the warmth of the fire as it raged on; part of his soul was being burned alive before him.

Only when he moved to replace a piece of wood in the fire did he feel something digging into his shoulder. Looking down at his cloak, he slowly pulled a bent rose from it.

It still had every single thorn, but lacked the beauty it had once obtained from sunlight and water. Without a second thought, he threw it into the core of the flames; anything that had lost its elegance deserved to be destroyed.

Throughout the night Erik watched the fire slowly die down, the orange light dancing in his eyes as he did. What he didn't notice was the figure who glanced out the window from the third floor. Even from where he kneeled on the ground, he wouldn't have been able to tell that she was crying.


	7. What They Want Most

**A/N: Happy Halloween! I hope you all enjoy this little treat!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, Phantom is not mine.**

**Chapter 7: What They Want Most**

The next few days at the de Chagny manor were not what Mary or Anita would have labeled as 'pleasant'.

At the start of the day, a knock on the door would rouse their master from his bedroom. He would rush to open it, only to find a small crowd of people demanding that they get their fifty thousand francs in exchange for offering information on his missing fiancé. He would then listen to the stories of how they had obtained the said information, or of where they'd seen her, but would only end up slamming the door in their faces after only hearing part of the first. He would then proceed into the kitchen, sit there for a few moments, trying to compose himself, and then the worst part would follow shortly after.

The maids began to wonder if there was anything else in the house that they could clean after all those fits of anger. Their master had demanded that they dust, mop, and scrub every surface in his rage. They'd lost track of how many floors and rooms they'd made spotless. The other maids were complaining so much that Mary even claimed to hear their whining voices in her dreams one night.

That was when Anita realized her master wouldn't stop ordering them around, acting as if they were animals instead of humans, until he got his beloved fiancé back.

"Well, how are we supposed to bloody do _that_?" Mary had asked angrily in her heavy English accent one evening when Anita had suggested they go about finding Miss Daaé. "Did you forget we're maids in the de Chagny household, or have you just turned daft?"

Anita had sighed. "I know there's nothing we can do to help get her back, but there has to be something we can do to make his suffering a little more bearable! I can't take this for much longer, Mary. My back is going to be the death of me if he doesn't snap out of it soon!"

They had fallen silent then and had continued to clean late into the night. Only after Mary had finished dusting that night did she finally realize that she wouldn't be able to survive the back-breaking work, either. Her feet had hurt so bad that they had actually gone numb, and she had lost all feeling in them.

"Bloody de Chagny boy doesn't know what he's making us do up here during the day," Mary mumbled now as she scrubbed the floor next to Anita. "He just bloody shouts whatever he bloody feels like, and we all go running to do as he wishes!" She pushed herself to her feet and threw the rag on the floor, sending soapy water in every direction. "Well, I've had enough with him and his orders. Sign me a one-way ticket out of here!" She began limping down the hall.

Anita ran after her. "Wait, Mary! You know he'll only get more enraged if you don't do as he says! It'll bring more work down on all our heads!" She sighed as her friend continued on as if she hadn't heard her speak. "Mary, are you even listening to a word I'm saying?"

"I heard what you said, Anita," Mary snapped, throwing her friend an infuriated look.

"Mary -"

"Look, "Mary said, turning on her abruptly. "I will give him one week to abandon that hideous temper of his. If he does, I stay. If he doesn't, well . . . I guess I'd better save my good-byes for then.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the washroom for a moment."

Anita watched as she disappeared down the hall and into the washroom, not bothering to care how loud she slammed the door behind her.

Sometimes, Anita wished she could be more like her friend. She hated having to deal with things like her master's temper, just like Mary did, when she very well knew she would not have had to put up with something like that elsewhere in a normal household with normal people that had normal problems.

And that's what she dreamed about at night: Running away from the house with Mary at her side, and also becoming an opera star, just like her mistress had been at one point in her life before she had supposedly been kidnapped. Anita often imagined what it would be like to sing in front of all of Paris, and how she would feel when the audience would burst into applause in astonished delight.

She shook her head and sighed. Anita might as well have wished for time to stop; she was dreaming for and stretching to catch something that was far beyond her reach . . . and she knew it.

Turning back to the puddle of soapy water on the floor, Anita kneeled down to resume scrubbing; Mary wouldn't come out of the washroom for a while, not when she was in a gloomy mood like the one she'd just presented.

For the rest of the morning and partially into the hours of the afternoon, Anita scrubbed the floor in a fit of fury, and by the time she was done, she immediately felt silly for being angry at all in the first place.

* * *

She woke in a daze of confusion.

Sunlight was streaming through the window, momentarily blinding her with the intensity of its rays. She tried to blink the sleep from her eyes as she threw the blankets off her legs and swung them over the side of the bed. Automatically glancing over at the bedside table, she saw the usual bundle of fresh, red-pedaled roses that appeared there every morning, tied together with a long, silky black ribbon. Absently pushing herself to her feet and picking up the bundle, she gently ran her fingers over the ribbon and tried to remember her disturbing dreams.

She struggled to grasp the fragments of them, and quickly gave up trying. Christine replaced the roses back in their original spot in annoyance and crossed the room to her closet; Erik always seemed more at ease when she wore something from the closet he'd filled for her. But when she opened it, she found it to be completely empty.

Christine shut the doors and walked back over to the bed. Perhaps she had not realized that Amelia had laid something out for her to wear. But after searching under the folds of the blankets, she came to realize that Erik must have taken them out himself, or Amelia by his orders. Either way, she had nothing to change into; all she was wearing was a thin evening gown with leggings.

She opened her bedroom door, walked down the hall, went down the stairs at the end of it, and stepped in the dining room.

As she had expected, he was sitting at the far end of the long mahogany table, his folded hands resting on the top of its polished surface, as he was every morning she came down for breakfast. He had a look on his face that suggested he was almost angry about something, but at the same time, it was almost a happy look as well. Christine picked her brain for something she'd done in the past few days that could possible make him even the slightest bit angry as she took her regular seat opposite him, but came up with nothing.

"Good morning, miss," Amelia greeted brightly as she walked into the room, carrying a tray of food that was undoubtedly for Christine. Setting it down in front of her, the maid asked, "Did you sleep well?"

Christine kept her eyes on Erik as she answered: "Quite good, thank you, Amelia." The lie rolled surprisingly easy off her tongue, and Amelia, satisfied, turned and left the room, leaving the two completely alone.

As she began to eat, Christine noticed him watching her. She looked up and met his gaze, only to realize that he was deep in thought by the glassy look that had come over his eyes. She continued putting food in her mouth without even looking down at her plate, or tasting it as she chewed. There was something different about him, and it concerned her that she could not quite put her finger on what it was.

When she set down her fork, he seemed to come back to reality. "You seem exhausted," he finally commented after a few brief moments of silence. "Nightmares keep you up last night, perhaps?"

Christine jumped slightly as the silence was filled with the sound of his booming voice. "I suppose you could call them that," she murmured quietly.

"Ah," he said, nodding as if he suddenly understood. "They never were pleasant for you as a child, and I suppose they must still trouble you now. I imagine last night was one such occasion?" He waited only a few seconds for her response, which never came. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "There is nothing for you to fear here, Christine, and if there is, you will not have to deal with its presence for much longer.

"Now, I suppose you've been wondering why you woke this morning to find that your closet was completely empty."

His last comment left the conversation waiting on her response.

Christine frowned slightly, confused by what he had said. Why would she not have to deal with her nightmares for much longer? But she let it go for the moment; she had all the time in the world to question him about it; it seemed that she was going to be living with him for a long time.

So her suspicions had been correct. "Yes, I have, actually," she replied. "But only because I am used to changing into a new dress every morning. If I was not used to doing so, I would not have noticed their absence. Is there any particular reason why they have all been removed?"

He sat back up in the chair and replaced his folded hands on the table. He looked down at them, and shifted uncomfortably. "There is something we need to discuss, Christine, this morning, if you do not mind. It is something that I should have told you a long time ago, when I was still in my right mind. I made the mistake of not telling you until now."

Puzzled, Christine's brow furrowed. She didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about. Curiosity seemed to be burning her from the inside out along with the feeling of frustration at being unable to find any meaning to his words. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

He was suddenly on his feet and then kneeling at her side before she knew it, holding out a close-fisted hand. "Promise me you'll take this with you," he whispered.

Christine looked down at his hand, and shook her head, confused even further. "I don't understand. What -"

"Just take it with you, and you'll never see me again, I promise you that," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "That much I promise." And, very slowly, he uncurled his fingers to reveal what lay in his palm. Her mouth fell open slightly, and she gasped.

She couldn't believe what she saw there, but it unmistakably was in every way possible. The image of it was burned into her mind as she slowly began shaking her head back and forth, her eyes never leaving the center of his hand." Erik, no, I can't take that back. It's yours, it belongs -"

"- to you," he said, gently taking one of her hands and dropping the small piece of jewelry into her own palm. "I had no right to take it from you, Christine. I'm returning it now . . . with my blessing."

The last three words he spoke caused her vision to become blurred with rising tears. She now knew exactly what he was going to do, what he had probably intended to from the beginning, what he had known he must do in the end:

He was going to let her go.

Christine knew it would be the death of him if he did, and she would not let herself be the cause.

"Erik, no -" She reached for his hand with her free one, but she only grasped empty air.

"Your bags are already in the carriage," he said from the doorway. His back was to her as he spoke. "The dresses are inside. I forced them all to fit, so be careful when you open the bags later. Amelia will show you out." He stood there for a few seconds, and then in a voice so low that Christine wondered if she had heard him correctly, "Tell him I'm sorry for me, will you? For everything.

"Good-bye, Christine. I wish you nothing but happiness." Erik moved to take a step out of the room, which was the hardest thing he ever had to do; he had to walk away from everything and anything he had ever wanted, could ever have.

He was walking away from his life.

He was surprised when she stopped him by catching his hand in hers. Without turning back to face her, he sighed, and then said, "Christine, I am trying to do the honorable thing here. You're not making it any easier for me to do so."

She forced the ring back into his hand. "I don't care. Take it, keep it. It's not mine to have, it's yours. I don't want it."

Erik turned to look at her, on the verge of tears yet again. He was afraid that if she did not leave soon, she never would: He wouldn't be able to let her. "Christine, please, just listen to me and leave this place. Put as many miles behind you as you can, and don't look back. Don't _ever_ look back, do you understand? There's no reason for you to be here anymore, you said so yourself. There's nothing keeping you here, nothing that is now or will in the future. Go," he whispered. "You and I both know you don't want to be here with me. I have known that for a long time, and I made a mistake by ignoring that fact."

Christine began shaking her head. "What if I want to stay here?" she tried. "What if I told you I want to sing again?"

She had to do anything - no, _everything_ - to save him now.

Erik chuckled ironically. "We both know the answers to those questions, Christine." He pushed the ring back into her hand. "Take it. No, keep it!" he insisted when she began to shake her head. "I will always love you, Christine, more than you'll ever know or understand. Now go. Please, just go." With a final look at her now tear-stained face, he turned and opened his mouth to call for Amelia, but was prevented from doing so.

"You were going to free Amelia, weren't you?" Christine asked in a desperate voice. "Once I was gone."

Erik sighed. Why did she have to make this so difficult for him? Why couldn't she just leave as he'd begged her to do, and leave him to drown in his guilt? Why couldn't she understand that she couldn't delay her departure by asking pointless questions?

"Christine -"

"I want to sing again," she said very quickly, her breathing becoming uneven. "I want you to teach me how to sing, all over again, as if you never have before. I want to love music as I used to, Erik. I want to feel that passion come alive and burn with so much emotion to where I am unable to contain it all, and have to sing to release it. And if you give me what I desire, I shall give you what you want most in exchange."

Christine took a sharp intake of breath when she realized what she'd said. She'd been rambling on, and let herself get carried away. But it was as if she had not uttered those words, for she had felt the words almost force themselves out of her mouth, as if someone else had said them. She waited, not daring to breathe or to move, for Erik's reaction.

Erik froze from head to toe at her offer. It was impossible for her to mean what she said, impossible that she had even really offered something so extreme. She would not have sacrificed and given up her warm, precious Vicomte to stay in a fantasy world with the cold Angel of Death, who could teach her to sing once again. She would have run at the first chance to escape, which he had willingly given to her, and yet she'd refused to take it. Why was that? Why did she always have to make everything so _difficult_ for him, so painful and heart-wrenching? Hadn't he already suffered enough when it came to her? Hadn't she realized how hard it was for him to give her up the first time, and that it was much harder to do so now? Didn't she know he was doing this for her own good, and not because he would have ever agreed to it willingly? She was all he'd ever wanted, everything he'd ever needed, yet she was not truly his.

She belonged to another man, had willingly agreed to bind herself to that man for the rest of her life. Erik knew he'd prevented that from happening by taking her, and realized that had been his intention from the beginning, and not just to take her as his own, but to keep her from marrying the Vicomte he so despised.

But she couldn't really mean what she had said.

"You cannot mean that, Christine," he finally said, his back still to her. "Not truly. And how could you possibly know what I want most?"

He said it almost mockingly, as if she did not have any idea, as if she was clueless. "How could you know what _I_ want most?" she asked defiantly.

Taking a deep breath, Erik turned to look at her. "I know what you want most because I've known you since you were a child, Christine. I saw you grow into the young woman you are now, and so I know that you cannot want to stay here over going back to where you want to be, and where you belong. I have accepted that you want to go back. Now all you have to do is walk through that door," he said, pointing down the hall.

Christine didn't even turn to look at where he was pointing. "I won't," she said firmly. "I won't walk through that door until you help me to sing and love music again. And I will keep the promise I have made you: I will give you what you want if you give me what I want."

Stunned beyond belief, Erik watched as she shoved the ring onto her third left finger.

"No!" Erik gasped. "I cannot bind you to me in that way! You love _him_, not me! Take it off, you foolish girl!" He managed to grab her wrist, but she clenched her hand to prevent him from taking off the ring.

"You see this, Erik? You see this ring on my finger?" Christine asked, pointing to the ring with her free hand. "_That_ is what you want. That is what you've always wanted. I can see it in your eyes."

Erik stared at her menacingly for a few more seconds before dropping her hand in defeat. He would end up hurting her if he tried to take the ring off. "_Why_? _Why_ can you not listen to me when it is vitally important that you do so, Christine? You should be on your way home right now, and yet you waste your time by standing here, throwing the idea of marriage in my scared face! You should know better than to play with the fire I've started!"

"Erik," Christine said slowly, "I am that fire. Water cannot douse the flames that have already spread. You've let this fire burn for too long. And I can't be burned."

He grunted in rage. "I can't bind you to me that way, or in any way, don't you see? If I do, you'll surely be dragged with me to hell, and I can't let that happen, not when you have such faith in God."

Christine shook her head. "Erik, you don't understand. I cannot be burned. My faith in God only helps all the more."

**Oh, it looks as if Christine has finally found her backbone! And isn't it just ironic how Erik suddenly wants to be rid of her?**

**Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated as always! ;)**


	8. A Bit of Luck

**A/N: Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! But please don't hesitate to give me constructive criticism because, as always, any and all reviews are welcome. :) And I am terribly sorry for not updating sooner! It's been a crazy couple of weeks for me.**

**Disclaimer: Although I wish I did, I do not own Phantom. And I know I never will. Sad, isn't it?**

**Chapter 8: A Bit of Luck**

How long had it been now? Two months, was it? Had it really been two months since she had been taken from him, two months since he had made the biggest mistake of his life, two months for which he had tried to find her? It seemed that two months had indeed passed, and she was still gone after all his efforts to get her back.

He had been warned by Madame Giry not to make an offer for information too high, and that was exactly what he had done. In his hastiness to find Christine and bring her back where she belonged, he had made this other mistake - he had put an ad in the paper, an offer for fifty thousand francs for any details concerning the whereabouts of one Miss Christine Daaé.

Was there honestly any hope of him finding her if all he could do was make mistakes? Was that all that Raoul de Changy could do?

He felt as if he was losing the hold he had once had on his life. He did not feel in control of it, or of anything. . . . All he knew was that he had let Christine down. He hadn't found her, and the longer it took him to, the harder everything would be for her when he did. If it took him long enough, when he finally would reach her, she wouldn't be his Christine anymore: She would be a tortured, broken soul. She would seem lifeless.

But that would only be if he couldn't find her soon enough. So the question was: Could he? It seemed like a lifetime had already passed, a lifetime filled with nothing but failure and disappointment; a lifetime lived alone, and without Christine.

The dark thoughts had begun not long after she had been taken. He knew there were so many things that could happen to her, so many things that could hurt her as long as she was with the Phantom, and Raoul was sure he had thought of every possible outcome. And how could he not think about all the possibilities, all the things the Phantom was capable of? If there was one thing Raoul had learned in Christine's absence, it was that everything seemed darker when you were alone.

But was there really any hope of finding her now, after so much time had passed?

Everything seemed to point back to when he had let Christine go to the washroom alone. For that one brief second he had let his guard down, and that one mistake had cost him so much. And why had he done that? Had he really thought that since the Phantom had not shown himself before or during the performance he had nothing to lose? Had he really thought that since there had been no disturbances during the performance she was in the clear? Had he known what was going to happen, Raoul would never have agreed to take Christine to the Paris Opera House. He would have taken her as far from Paris as fast as he could have.

"_Raoul, I love you. I'm engaged to you, to become your wife. I'm not going anywhere."_

_But you're not here, _he could not help but think in reply. _I let you walk straight into his trap, let him hurt you again. Where are you, Christine? Where is the girl I once called Little Lotte?_

So maybe that was the real mistake - he had agreed to something he knew would somehow cost him in the end.

But he had not known it would cost him so much.

And, on top of everything else, he'd been unaware of his abuse of his maids. Until he'd overheard Mary and Anita talking about the unbearable labor, he'd been almost oblivious to the fact that he'd been ordering so much work to be done. But now that he thought back on the last two months, he realized that he had made their lives just as miserable as his had become, though that had never been his intention.

Unable to take his swirling thoughts any longer, unable to accept that fact that he could do nothing but fail in his quest to save Christine, Raoul pushed himself up from the chair, and made his way to the front door. After hurriedly shrugging into his overcoat, he turned to the stairs. "Mary!"

A few seconds passed before a small figure appeared at the top of the staircase. "Yes?" Her tone was unmistakably overly cautious and hesitant.

"Take the night off, all of you," he ordered abruptly. "Tomorrow as well. I shall be out late, and I do not know when I'll return. Until I do, enjoy yourselves. Is that clear?"

Mary stood open-mouthed in shock for a few seconds before nodding, and said, "Crystal clear, sir!"

With a short, blunt nod, Raoul turned and opened the door. Pulling it shut swiftly behind him as he stepped outside, he quickly disappeared from the stunned maid's sight.

Shocked beyond belief, Mary looked to the ceiling, and muttered a few words of thanks to God. Anita had persuaded her to stay in the de Chagny household, and just when Mary had thought nothing would ever change, their master had given them all time off! She ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the hall to inform Anita and the others.

* * *

"Meg? Are you in here?"

Looking up from the floor, Meg saw her mother standing in the doorway of her small room with a curious expression on her face. With a small forced smile, her gaze fell back to the floor. "Yes, I'm here," she replied in quiet voice.

Frowning, Madame Giry stepped into the room. She knew at once something was not quite right. "And what are you doing, just sitting there on your bed?" When Meg did not show any sign of acknowledging her mother's question, Madame Giry then slowly asked in concern, "Meg, is something wrong?"

Sighing, Meg turned to look out the window. Stars covered the night sky, the moon shining brightly down on her through the glass. She suddenly wondered if it would be easier to be the moon, to sit high up in the sky every night than to deal with the loss of a friend.

"Nothing is ever going to be the same again, is it?" she asked after a moment of stretched silence. "She's never going to come back. You know him better than anyone else, and he'll never let her go, will he?" Meg turned to her mother, studying her face for some kind of answer, some confirmation of what she suspected. "She's gone . . . all because she came back to the Opera House."

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Madame Giry. Seeing her daughter in this state always troubled her. It was rare for Meg to be like this, but it still happened occasionally, usually caused by something one of the ballet girls had said about her earlier in the day. But this - this Madame Giry knew was different. _She_ was the cause of her daughter's depression this time. _She_ had lied, had assisted in the kidnapping of her daughter's best friend. _She_ had separated the couple who deserved, more than anything, eternal happiness. So why had it taken so long for all of that to sink in?

Sighing, Madame Giry stepped into the room and sat down beside Meg on her bed. "You know as well as I do what he is capable of, Meg," she began softly. "He loves her so much that it hurts him to know she does not love him in return, hurts him when she's not with him." Pausing momentarily to brush a strand of hair from her daughter's face, she then continued by saying, "Can you understand why he cannot let her go? She's a part of him, a rather large part of his life. It took me a long time to see that, and I thought I knew him best." Taking a deep breath, she then said, "No, nothing will be the same again because of what he has done, but does that mean we have to give in now? Just because there's a chance we may not find her?"

Meg slowly shook her head back and forth.

"And wouldn't you rather try everything you could to find her before you decide to give in?"

"Yes," Meg whispered, nodding. "She deserves that. She's been the best friend to me, the best friend I could ever have . . . The best friend I thought I'd never have."

Seeing the sudden confidence at on her daughter's face, something broke inside Madame Giry. She felt as if she could no longer keep anything from her only daughter, her only child. She wanted to tell her everything, wanted to tell her who had caused her pain. She knew that Meg would not be happy to find that her own mother had assisted the most feared man in Paris, and would not understand why she had helped him yet again, but Meg had every right to know. The longer the truth would be kept from her, the harder it would be for her to accept it. And so she had to tell her now. It would be now or never.

"Meg, there is something I must tell you -" Madame Giry began, and then stopped abruptly.

Someone was knocking on the front door.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Madame Giry wondered aloud, obviously both annoyed and irritated. Getting up from the bed, she told Meg she would be right back, and headed out of the room.

Once she reached the front door, she threw it open to find a man standing there in the darkness. "Ah, monsieur, I thought you would have been here much sooner. What kept you?"

"My thoughts," he replied, sounding just as irritated as she had been. "May I come in?"

"Do you realize how late you've decided to make your appearance?" she asked, her voice slowly rising in anger. "It's nearly midnight!"

"Yes, I am quite aware of that, Madame, but there is something I must discuss with you."

"What could possibly be so important for you to come here tonight and disturb my daughter and myself?"

Becoming increasingly annoyed with the lack of action being taken, he pushed past her and through the front door. "My fiancé's well-being, if you must know," he replied coldly.

Slamming the door with far more force than necessary, Madame Giry turned back to face him. "How dare you come into my home and tell me of your concern for Christine! I have taken care of her since she was a child, she is practically family relation! Do not tell me you are concerned for her safety, I know very well how you worry for her, but let me assure you that Meg and I have been worried out of our minds since we learned of her disappearance!"

"And you think that I have not?" Raoul demanded to know. "You think that I have sat around doing nothing for the past two months? I have tried everything in my power to find her! And if it had not been for me, you would never have heard a _word_ of her appearance as quickly as you did. And what is it that _you_ have done, Madame? What have you done to help?"

Throwing her arms in the air, Madame Giry practically screeched, "What _haven't_ I done to help? All I have done is help! Between assisting you to find a way to get some decent information on Christine's whereabouts and taking care of my daughter, I would say I have done quite a lot to help you, Monsieur!"

"Perhaps," Raoul said in a much softer tone. "Perhaps you have." After a short pause, he asked in a very rude manner, "But have you noticed that Christine is still missing?"

Completely taken aback at his suggesting tone, but not at all surprised at his outburst, Madame Giry's eyes widened in disbelief. "And you believe that to be _my_ fault?" she asked defiantly. "Shall I remind you who let her go to the washroom unaccompanied, or do you remember that arrogant fop's actions as well as I do?"

Raoul took a threatening step toward her. "You _dare_ -"

"Enough!"

The heated argument came to an abrupt stop, and both Raoul and Madame Giry turned to see Meg entering the room. If the pair would not have detected the anger in her voice, the expression on her face would have made it evident she was truly angered and disappointed.

Suddenly annoyed with himself, Raoul looked to the floor, obviously trying to avert her gaze, seeming ashamed of his actions.

Madame Giry briefly glanced at him, and then at her daughter. "Meg -"

But she held up her hand for her mother not to continue. "The person responsible for Christine's disappearance," Meg began,"is not currently in this room, as I am quite sure both of you clearly know. There is no reason why we should try and put the blame all on one set of shoulders."

A stretched silence followed her words.

Feeling increasingly guilty though she was, Madame Giry suddenly knew it was no longer the right time to tell her daughter that she had been the one to help the Phantom. The Vicomte had shown up as expected, but at an unexpected time. He would also find her actions disappointing.

"Why is it that you've come here tonight, Monsieur?" Meg asked, turning the conversation directly at him. She was determined not to waste any more time, and every moment wasted could be a moment used toward finding Christine.

Sighing, Raoul turned to face Meg. "Truthfully, I came here tonight with the intention of asking you both to come with me to search for Christine. But I see now that this was a mistake. So much time has passed already, and even more has been wasted in my coming here. So if you will excuse me, I'll be on my way." He turned toward the door, but stopped just as quickly.

"I shall go with you."

Raoul turned to find that it was Meg who had spoken, and he could see nothing but courage and determination in her eyes.

Turning then to Madame Giry, he waited for her to speak.

Struggling to find words, she asked Raoul a question: "Don't you think this is a bit rash, a bit bold of you? How do you expect to find Christine when you don't even know where she is, or where to begin looking?"

A serious expression took over Raoul's face. "With the only thing I know to be left, Madame - just a bit of luck."

Eyebrows furrowing, Madame Giry tried to grasp this. "You cannot honestly believe we will find Christine by mere _chance_, do you?" she asked in partial annoyance. "Would you really leave something as important as finding her well and alive to fate?"

Raoul sighed. "I would never resort to that method, Madame. But the current situation is an exception, and it seems it is all I have left to rely on." Glancing over at Meg for a quick second, he concluded, "I have to find her, and if your daughter is willing to look for my fiancé, Madame, I think she should be given the chance to."

Glancing between Raoul and her daughter, Madame Giry struggled to make a decision, and good judgment.

Finally turning to the Vicomte, she said, "She may go, and I will as well. If you will kindly give us the evening to pack a few belongings, we shall be ready by morning."

Raoul did not seem too satisfied that he would have to waste any more time, but soon agreed, knowing it would be foolish to refuse help now. "I shall be back here at dawn. And I will expect you both to be ready when I arrive."

And without another word, he was out the door and out of sight.

**Review are greatly appreciated!!**


	9. This Is It

**A/N: Thank you all for the amazing reviews!! I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and has a Happy New Year! Oh, and sorry for not updating so long. Time sort of got away from me, but no worries! The next chapter is here! :)**

**And the title doesn't really have anything to do with Michael Jackson, but I got the idea for the title when I was listening to his "This Is It" album. I would like to dedicate this chapter to the legendary King of Pop. R.I.P. MJ!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except a few characters of my own creation and the plot.**

**Chapter 9: This Is It**

He watched as a single petal fell from the rose and gently floated to the floor. The flower was losing its life, inevitably going to die, and was slowly shriveling up into an ugly, faded red flower bud. Ironically, this made him think of his own life, his past, and what seemed to be a hazy shadow of his near future.

Truthfully, Erik was not in the best of moods. When he had realized what had to be done, and just when he thought he was doing the right thing, everything had been thrown back in his face. He had tried, had he not? He had tried and failed. But was it his fault that she was so stubborn? Was it his fault that she had decided to stay with him instead of returning home, where she rightfully belonged? He began to wonder - and not for the first time - if there was one sole answer for both questions.

But who was it that he was trying to convince otherwise? Was it Christine or, more likely, himself? He did not want to be a monster, he did not want to be feared by the world, but how could he stay sane while in solitude? He had been unable to in her absence before, and so he had seen that as proof he could not live without her. He had no purpose in life without taking care of her, without being able to love her. When she would finally leave, as he was quite sure she would, she would never return; he would never see her again, and so he felt there would be no reason for his life to continue long after that, seeing as she _was_ his life.

Glancing out the window in his room, Erik saw that the sun was low in the sky. Quickly gathering his cloak, he threw it over his shoulders and headed for the door, leaving the dying flower behind.

Once he reached the first floor, he stopped only momentarily to remind Amelia to start preparing dinner. And then he was out the front door and subconsciously heading for the rose garden.

Erik had not been the slightest bit comfortable during the time he had spent with her. He had refused at first to teach her again, but the longing to hear her voice had won over his stubbornness, and so he had given in. She had gotten her wish - her Angel of Music had helped her to sing and love music again, much to the said Angel's regret.

He had worried himself practically sick, wondering whether these lessons which he provided for her would eventually lead them both down a darker path. His worst fear was that she would keep her end of the bargain to which he had not given his consent. Despite the obvious fact that she still feared him, she seemed to be standing up more and more for what she wanted, proving time and again that she was not the same Christine he had once known. And what he was failing to understand was why she still had the desire for him to teach her. Did she not know how much it pained him to, knowing what would undoubtedly follow shortly after?

Carefully stepping through the brush and undergrowth, he took the small dirt path that led to the garden. He could already see her crouched figure from where he was despite the increasing darkness. She was wearing one of the dresses she had retrieved from the carriage the day she had refused to leave. He had insisted that she never wear any of them again, but this comment had made her only more determined to surprise him; of course it had.

He stopped at the end of the path, and soon realized the crouched figure before him was holding a wilted rose, practically a clone of the one he'd been holding only moments before.

"You should come inside," he murmured in a tone just above a whisper. When she did not seem to acknowledge his suggestion, he added in a slightly louder voice, "Christine, it's nearly sunset."

Christine turned to see him standing as still as a statue, which he very much resembled at that moment. He was dressed in his usual black attire, and his cloak was rippling behind him in the gentle breeze, seeming like a gentle, flowing stream of water. His face reminded her of stone - gray and expressionless. She was sure he could have stood like that forever, but the statue suddenly came to life and moved to crouch down beside her. Gently lifting the rose from her grasp, he examined it more closely.

"Yes. . . ." Erik whispered in a low tone. He shifted his gaze to the garden, his eyes widening slightly in sadness. "They are dying - very slowly, but still dying. Every second they are getting closer to their inevitable fate. They need water to survive. . . ." And he slowly tilted his head back to look up at the sky. Swirling white clouds were floating overhead. "Fortunately, I believe it will rain quite soon. Tomorrow seems to be in favor."

And rain it did the following day, just as he had predicted.

Though Christine had come to love the place, she felt rather suffocated when she woke to find that it was pouring rain the next morning. The gloomy weather meant she was hopelessly trapped indoors for the day, and she could not deny that she would enjoy being outside in the fresh air far more.

But it was not because of Erik that she preferred the outdoors more than she ever had as of late. She had felt claustrophobic since the day she had been given a tour of the house, and so she had decided to spend more time out in the gardens of flowers and feel the warmth of the sun on her face, which was the only thing that seemed to keep her in her right mind every additional day she spent with her Angel of Music.

Although she felt that was a key problem in her situation, it was not what Christine was most worried about. She had gone over that same moment time and time again in her head. She had not realized what she had been saying, had not been able to grasp what had just happened in front of her eyes. She had gone over every possibility and had come to a single conclusion: No matter how much she did not want the weight of the burden on her shoulders, she was destined to save Erik's soul, whether she wanted to or not, rain or shine. Christine had come to believe that the way of God was sometimes not completely understood, but for why He had chosen her destiny to be this, she still was trying to comprehend.

And every day she spent with Erik was a day she silently yearned to be with Raoul. But there was something, and she did not know what that something was, that kept her from walking out the front door and never looking back over her shoulder to see if the man that both frightened and mesmerized her was following in her wake.

_It's your destiny to save him, and there's nothing you can do to change that._

As if in answer to that thought, the ring on her third left finger seemed to suddenly burn, reminding her of the destiny that would soon be hers. She immediately took it off and set it on her bedside table before falling back into the sheets on her bed.

She sobbed like what seemed forever, but then a sudden knock on the door caused her to jump slightly. Quickly wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks, she sniffled once, and then moved towards the door. She slowly reached out and turned the knob, readying herself for who she knew was behind the door.

And she was surprised to find that it was in fact Amelia she found facing her.

"Good morning, Christine," the maid greeted cheerfully. "Master Destler is waiting for you down in the dining room. He has requested that you join him."

Christine was used to these 'requests', as Erik liked to call them, but as she followed Amelia out the door, something seemed to be pulling at her, and then she suddenly knew: Today was going to be different.

* * *

"You're as quiet as ever."

Christine, about to take a small bite of bread, stopped and looked up at Erik sitting across from her at the opposite end of the long mahogany table. He looked as he always did, dressed from head to toe in black, his porcelain mask the only exception. She briefly wondered why she always saw him like this. Was it because he thought he did not deserve to wear anything other than the color of his heart and soul?

"And you are as observant as ever," she commented in return.

Erik chuckled almost darkly. "I've learned never to take my eyes off the prize."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she asked, "Is that all I am to you, Erik? A mere prize you go dashing after?"

She saw his expression turn serious. "You should know by now that you are far more than a prize to me, Christine."

Christine looked down at her plate, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. At times like these, she thought it was best not to make eye contact with him. "If I'm so valuable to you, why do you treat me as if I am nothing more than a puppet at your disposal?" she asked slowly before cautiously lifting her head to see his reaction to the question.

An almost sad look came over his face. "You cannot possibly think that."

"But I do, Erik," she insisted. "I have since the day I found you to be a man and not the Angel of Music my father promised me he would send."

Sighing heavily, he pushed himself up from his chair, and slowly began to speak: "I do not understand why I have to keep proving myself to you, Christine. I have told you numerous times of my feelings, and yet you throw them aside as if they mean nothing. They have been the reason why you occupy my thoughts every moment of every day, and why I am convinced that I am destined to love you until the day I die." He continued to stare into the depths of her crystal blue eyes until he could not keep from asking the question that was burning inside him any longer: "Can you not understand my frustration with this, Christine?"

Christine chose her next few words carefully. "You do not love me, Erik. You never have. This is all obsession and the desire to possess what you cannot have."

Erik shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Christine, you do not understand the point of this conversation. This is it, this is all we get: This one lifetime, this one chance to acquire what we want most. And all I want, all I have ever wanted, is spend the rest of my life with you by my side. I hardly define that as obsession and the desire to possess what I cannot have. I have always belonged to you, with you, and it is very much the same for you in return. The only problem you have now is that you cannot come to except that fact."

Christine knew at once that he was right, and that she had been defeated. There was simply nothing more she could say.

* * *

Christine found herself in the rose garden the next day. The roses seemed to have attained some of the life they had lost, and this partially brightened her gloomy mood. The sky was as blue as she'd ever seen it, and the sun was just beginning to rise.

After the previous morning's events, Christine had retreated to her room for the rest of the day. Amelia had brought meals up to her on trays and said nothing of Erik, though Christine had known he was in his room just down the hall. It had seemed that they both had been a little shaken by the truth of his words.

Erik had not come to her door once throughout the evening. She had tossed and turned all night, and had eventually given up hope in catching a few hours of sleep towards the early part of the morning. She'd finally decided to get up out of bed and go to the rose garden.

And now here she was.

Christine was angry, far angrier than she'd ever been. It was not Erik that made her so furious, or what he had said. Every word that had come out of his mouth had been true. No, she was most angry at herself.

How long had she planned to deny it? How long had she planned to get away with leading a false life? Everything seemed to be coming quite clear to her now, after everything Erik had said. Her life was entwined with his, and there was nothing she could do to change that, no matter how much she did not want to believe it.

Her heart almost broke clean in two when she thought of how Raoul would be searching for her, and how he would never find her. There was no way he possibly could, not when she herself had no idea where she was. And she could not simply abandon Erik now, at a time when he needed her the most. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, and closed her eyes, trying to forget where she was and why she was there. She couldn't stop the tears from falling, and so she had no choice but to let them fall.

"How long do you suppose we'll continue not talking?"

Christine didn't bother to look over her shoulder; she knew who it was. She always knew.

"A few days, most likely," she replied in a soft tone. "Maybe longer."

"Ah, yes," he said sadly. "That's exactly what I thought you'd say."

She couldn't stand the pressing silence, and so she blurted out, "Erik, you were right." She swallowed. "About everything."

Christine held her breath as she suddenly sensed him moving closer to her. She didn't dare to move or speak; he was now dangerously close.

"Answer me this, Christine," he whispered in her ear. "Are you truly afraid of me?"

Her mind was swirling, and she suddenly felt rather dizzy and off-balance. She tried her best to focus on their conversation as her heart beat quickened and her breath became ragged. "Terrified," she finally admitted.

"And why do you suppose that is?"

_Because I know what you are capable of,_ she thought. That's what she desperately wanted to say, what she had thought was the truth. But now she was not quite so sure. "I don't know."

He leaned in closer, his voice making her feel hypnotized. "Think harder, Christine. You know more than you think."

And think she did.

She began to wonder if she was dreaming. Perhaps she was still in her bed, fast asleep, dreaming of her fears. But this felt too real to be a dream, and she knew that she was wide awake. Erik really was standing behind her, whispering into her ear. She was not imagining this.

It was real.

Several seconds later, she closed her eyes. Could she really say it? Did she really mean it? She took a deep breath. "Because I . . . Because I love you, Erik." She didn't open her eyes until she had added, "But it's not the kind of love you want it to be."

There was of few moments of silence in which Christine thought seemed like time stood still, and that it would never end. Erik broke it by asking in a low tone, "And are you quite sure of that?"

She nodded slightly. "Yes," she breathed. She noticed that her heart was beating even more rapidly in her chest and it was becoming harder to breathe. "I'm sure."

Another short pause.

"Then why can't you turn and face me?"

Before she could respond, Erik gently grasped her shoulders and turned her so that she was facing him. His scent that she had become so used to surrounded her, and she closed her eyes again. _This is not happening, this cannot be happening. . . ._

"Christine," he whispered. "Open your eyes. There is nothing for you to fear."

_There is everything in the world to fear._

She could feel his breath on her chin, and she silently cursed her heart for beating so loudly, for she was sure he could hear it. "I can't," she whispered, slowly shaking her head back and forth.

"Try."

Taking another deep breath, she forced herself to open her eyes.

At first, she couldn't find the courage to look up at him, and could only stare at the black cloak that hung over his shoulders.

Her breathing ragged, she whispered his name in a trembling voice so low that she was not even sure he could hear it: "Erik. . . ."

He seemed to ignore the frightened tone of her voice, and raised a bare hand to lift her chin so that she stared directly into his eyes. She was lost in those grey-green orbs for an instant, and she knew what he was going to do before it happened.

"Christine. . . ." he whispered in a deep, husky voice.

And, very slowly, he leaned down and his lips ever so lightly captured hers in a kiss.

**Oh, I am so mean! Sorry guys, but you'll have to wait for the next chapter to see what will happen next. I hope this made up for all the time you were waiting for this update, and I will try not to make you wait so long for the next! Please R&R!!**


	10. A Coming Storm

**A/N: Sorry for not updating for so long! As usual, I had a lot packed into my schedule. I worked really hard on this chapter, so I hope everyone enjoys it! **

**Disclaimer: Phantom will never belong to me, even if I stalk ALW for the rest of his life.**

**Chapter 10: A Coming Storm**

She was lost.

Trapped inside a whirlwind of confusion, with absolutely no way to know where she was or how she had gotten there in the first place. There seemed to be no means of escape, no light to guide her back to safety and out of the surrounding darkness. Nothing existed, nothing stirred or breathed. All she knew was that she had strayed into dangerously unfamiliar territory, and that he was there somewhere with her too.

Only when she had control over her breathing did she dare to open her eyes again. The swirling vortex had vanished, and she was back on solid ground. Her heart was still beating wildly in her chest, though she tried her best to slow it. She forced herself to look up into his eyes, to see the emotion that swam in the depths of those grey-green pools of mystery. He was only staring back at her with the familiar intensity she knew better than the back of her own hand.

"Why. . . How . . . What have you done?" she whispered, slowly backing away in disbelief. "How dare you!"

He was dismayed by her reaction. "Christine, wait." He took a small, cautious step towards her. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to -"

"To what, Erik?" she demanded to know. "To overstep the only boundary you had set for yourself?"

She waited in complete silence for his answer.

"No." He shook his head back and forth slowly, his gaze never wavering. "I will never be sorry for what I have just done."

Holding his gaze defiantly, she asked in a strained voice, "Then what do you have to be sorry for?"

He took a long, slow breath before answering: "For confusing you further. That was not my intention."

Her mind was whirling with sudden anger. Suddenly throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, Christine practically screamed at him, "Then what _was_ your intention, Erik? Did you want me to feel inhuman, to understand why you can't let me go? Was that it? Is that what you wanted?"

Erik frowned. "I only wanted you to see the truth, to realize what I already know."

Christine knew what he meant, but she could not believe that had been his reason. Could he never come to except that she did not love him, that she loved someone else? She had tried to tell him before, so many times before, and never had it worked then. She supposed it wouldn't work now, were she to tell him, but what else could she say to him? How else could she make him realize that what he had just done had not changed anything?

"I love him, Erik," she said gently. "Nothing you do can change that, can ever change that."

"But you also love me, Christine," he countered. "And I doubt anything could ever change that, even if you truly don't love me in the same way." He said this in a tone that suggested he believed this was untrue. After a brief pause, he continued by asking, "Was kissing me so horrible, Christine? Was it truly your worst nightmare? Did you open your eyes knowing you would face a monster?"

Once Christine realized that she had no real answers to his questions, she shook her head and stammered, "I - I'm sorry, Erik. I need . . . I need some time alone."

And without another word, she was gone, leaving her Angel behind to sigh in defeat.

* * *

Once the sun began to set that night, Christine wondered why Amelia hadn't come to fetch her for dinner. Erik always sent his maid for her around that time.

But that wasn't the main thing she had been thinking about for the good portion of the afternoon.

She knew it shouldn't have happened. She knew it was his overwhelming power he had over her that had caused her to feel so confused, and not because he had kissed her. No, that was not what it had been at all. She still loved Raoul. She always would. Now it seemed that it was quite possible for Raoul to find her. His love for her would drive him to search until he found her. He wouldn't give up.

She didn't know she had picked it up until she was staring down at it, gently rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. That infamous ring. . . . Did it really belong on her left finger? And to who and where did _she_ belong?

* * *

Just as the last orange glow of the sun retreated below the horizon, fast-rolling dark-gray clouds promised the arrival of a coming storm. Thunder rumbled somewhere far off in the distance, causing a man sitting atop a carriage in the drivers' seat to glance up curiously at the sky. A single rain drop fell and hit him square on the nose. Quickly wiping it away, the man grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. The swirling clouds above his head only darkened his already gloomy spirits. His life was falling apart faster than he had ever imagined, and the only thing he had left was hope. And even that seemed quite foolish to him now.

He abruptly pulled back the reigns, causing the two white horses pulling the carriage to come to an abrupt halt. Easily jumping to the ground, the man came up beside one of the horses and began releasing its binds to the carriage.

The side door opened then, and the head of Madame Giry appeared. "Why in God's name have we stopped?" she asked, subconsciously rubbing her head.

Now free from the carriage, Raoul pulled the horse away and swung his leg quite effortlessly over the side of the white steed.

"Have you gone mad?" Madame Giry asked, climbing out of the carriage, closely followed by a curious Meg. "Where do you intend to go from here? All you have to go on are vague directions from an architect and you have absolutely _no_ idea where we are at the moment."

Raoul half-turned his head towards them to say: "Of course that doesn't help the present situation, but what other choice do I have?" Sighing, he glanced away and mumbled, "I think it would be best if I carried on alone from here."

Madame Giry scoffed. "You've made that rather obvious, you fop!"

Raoul immediately turned the horse around to face the pair. Sensing its riders' anger, it began pawing the ground fiercely, while blowing threateningly through its nose. The wild look in both their eyes did not go unnoticed by either Meg or Madame Giry.

In a much gentler tone, Meg said, "Monsieur, perhaps we should carry on a little further. Then, if we do not attain directions we can follow, you can continue on . . . alone."

The young Giry thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone before she could tell if it had just been her imagination.

"No," he finally said. "We will still have the same problem then as we do now. I must thank you both for accompanying me this far, but I should never have asked you to join me. I can carry on much faster with just me, my shadow, and this horse." Turning the white beast back around, he said, "I'll have a better chance of finding her. This is the only way."

"Raoul, wait -" The sound of galloping hooves drowned out Meg's voice. As the horse carried the young Vicomte away on its back, mother and daughter watched the dirt fly out from behind them.

When they were completely out of sight, Meg broke the silence by asking: "What can we do now that he's taken off?"

Madame Giry gazed with narrowed eyes down the road. "For now, we let him go, let the fool try his best. The only thing we can do that will be beneficial is to follow behind with high hopes. If he doesn't get himself killed, we may still have a chance of saving Christine."

* * *

As she looked out of the sole window in her room from her sitting position on the bed, she watched as gloomy clouds slowly rolled past. Christine knew a storm was coming.

As she stared, her mind wandered. She wondered why things were becoming so difficult all of a sudden. She should be able to face him, to look him straight in the eye. Maybe even speak to him. She was not afraid of him - not completely, anyway. Nor should she be. So why was it still so hard for her to accept her fate? She had promised to be his wife in return for their old lessons. He had held his end of the bargain . . . and now it was her turn.

The only problem she was faced with now was she would have to kiss him . . . again. And this time, she could not pull away: A kiss sealed the bond between a man and women who wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

But was that what she truly wanted, to spend the rest of her days by Erik's side?

Christine knew she would not be able to answer that question, not without thinking everything through. Marrying Erik would ultimately be giving up on Raoul, giving up on the hope of him ever finding her, leaving him behind in the dust. But it would be a lie to say it wasn't what she wanted. A small part of her was telling her to marry Erik, and she couldn't ignore that, no matter how small a part it was.

_Now is the time to decide, Christine, _she told herself. _It's now or never._

* * *

Erik wondered as he passed her room if she would ever come back out again. She had been very quiet, and had politely declined Amelia's tray of food less than an hour ago, claiming she was not hungry. Though he knew that could be very true, he now worried that he had indeed made a terrible mistake.

He shut the door behind him without making a sound. As he took a seat in a chair close to the window, he noticed numerous clouds floating overhead, as if a dark burden had come back to haunt him. It was as if what he had done was being frowned upon by God Himself.

Was he to be punished for following what he felt was right? He had thought kissing Christine would make her realize her love for him, that she loved him in a way that she did not love Raoul. As the situation stood now, it looked as if things were not in his favor.

And as for the de Changny boy, he was another problem. Erik had heard about his absurd plans to come searching for her. He had left his home and money to search for someone he would spend the rest of his life trying to find . . . only to fail. A foolish move that was, at best.

Though he knew there was a slim chance of the boy finding Christine, Erik had made preparations to insure that if Raoul _did_ somehow manage to find them, he would not leave with Christine.

Erik knew that if the Vicomte would show his face, he would do so quite soon. He was getting very close to their location without realizing it. Erik wondered if Raoul had somehow received help from an outside source. The boy had money to burn, so why not spend it on finding Christine? He could have easily hired a private investigator to track her down.

Erik suddenly realized that even the best private investigator or police force in the world would ever find them, would ever catch him. He had taken the time to cover up the few tracks he had left. There was a very small chance of ever being discovered.

So his only problem was now Christine. What could he do to make her realize how much she truly loved him, and not nearly as much as that pestering Raoul de Chagny?

* * *

It was some time before he reached the town, and thought it strange that he didn't have a clue as to where he was. As Raoul rode into the main square, he dismounted his horse and gently guided it by holding the reigns. He saw a place to tie up his horse, right near a fruit and vegetable stand.

As he began tying up the horse, he caught a bit of conversation between the two men selling fruits and vegetables to customers.

"Do you suppose she is afraid of him?" a rather deep, mysterious voice asked.

There was a short pause. "Of course I do!" another more monotone voice replied. "You've seen her. Every time she comes into town, she only talks to the people she has to. Very unsociable, hardly speaks to anyone. I've even noticed she's rather skittish, you know, doesn't like to be around large groups of people much."

"Have you heard the stories? About the things he does to her?"

"Stories?" the man asked. "What stories?"

"That he locks her up every night and only lets her out to make meals for him and that girl. . . . What's her name again?"

"Caroline something or other, something close to that I think," the monotone voice replied. "I heard he locks _her_ up."

"The only difference between them is that he loves that Caroline girl. I bet he treats the maid far worse. Wouldn't you think?" the deep voice asked.

"I can only imagine."

Raoul grabbed the post to hold himself steady as his vision become blurry. The name and situation were far too close to be a coincidence. Could he really have just found what he'd been searching for? Had he really just found a way to Christine?

Gathering his composure, he stood up straight and summoned all the strength he had left.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said walking up to the pair. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Is what you say true?"

A rather beefy man, to which the deep, mysterious voice belonged, leaned forward and whispered, "Oh, it's quite true, sir."

"And this - this Caroline . . . does she enjoy living with this man?"

"From what I've heard, she does," the other, a very skinny man, replied. "Even though he doesn't treat her much better than his maid, she enjoys being with him. Rather insane, if you ask me."

"And the man? What is his name?"

"Oh, no one knows his name," the skinny man said. "Although, I've heard the maid even calls him master."

Before Raoul could ask the question for which he was certain he would receive an answer, the big, deep-voiced man said, "Speak of the devil. Look, there she is now!" He pointed a large finger to a point somewhere over Raoul's shoulder.

Turning to look, Raoul saw who he knew was the maid the two men were speaking of. She had long, curly light brown hair with a heart-shaped face which she was trying to hide behind an old shawl. She was rather skinny, and she looked underfed. He could tell by the way she held herself that she was uncomfortable. She had a basket full of food she was carrying, and her eyes darted from person to person, as if fearing detection of some sort as she walked around the main square of town.

Without looking away from her, he asked, "So she lives with Carolina and who she calls master?"

"Yes, all day every day," the monotone voice replied. "God bless her brave soul."

The next moment, Raoul saw her climb into a carriage, which started bumping along down the nearest dirt road. He knew now was the time to act.

Turning to the two gentlemen, he said, "Well, I'd better be on my way now. Thank you both for your time. Perhaps we'll meet again so that I may thank you properly. Good day, gentlemen!"

Then Raoul was off, following the carriage atop his horse before the two men could do or say anything.

"What, did I say something?" the skinny man asked.

The other man only shrugged.

* * *

Erik waited.

It had been quite a long time since Christine had left her room. She'd spent more time in there than he could ever remember her being.

He tried to tell himself it was nothing. She was just spending some time alone. Yes, that had to be it.

Erik knew that it was sometime early in the morning when he heard a quiet knock on his door. He stopped pacing, which had begun several hours ago. Glancing out the window, he could see that the gray clouds had not moved and were still lurking overhead. It looked as if it could rain at any moment.

But what could Amelia want this early in the morning? Hadn't she gotten back from town a while ago? Why would she need to talk to him now?

"Come in," he called, unable to keep a note of anger out of his voice.

The door opened very slowly, and a small voice called his name: "Erik?"

Before the door even fully opened, he knew that the voice did not belong to Amelia. "Christine? Are you alright?" He crossed the room in two strides and opened the door the rest of the way. He immediately noticed her face was stained with tears and that her eyes were puffy and red from irritation, as if she had rubbed them a number of times.

He longed to reach out and wipe the moisture from her face, but he kept his hands steady at his sides . . . with some difficulty. "What happened?"

She let a tiny, emotionless laugh escape from her lips. "It's just that I've been thinking a lot, and. . . . I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be disturbing you this early, but may I come in?"

Puzzled but curious, Erik immediately stepped aside to let her through. "Of course." He closed the door behind her and turned to find her standing next to the window.

"There's a storm coming," she said in a voice suddenly cracked with emotion.

"Yes."

Before she knew it, he was standing right behind her. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the reason why she had come to talk to him.

"Is something wrong?" Erik asked, concern clouding all other thought.

"No, no everything's fine," she promised. There was a short silence before she continued. "But I have something to tell you."

Silently thinking that _something_ must be wrong, Erik could only ask, "What is it?"

Christine continued to stare out of the window for a moment. "I've made my decision."

He frowned, confused. "And what decision would this be exactly?"

She took a deep breath, and began: "It's time I let go of my past. Most of the memories are either too painful or sad for me to reflect upon. I don't _want _to remember anything, Erik. It will be hard to move on if I don't let go of them now; the only thing I have to look forward to is my future. It's the only thing I have control over, the one thing that can be better than my past."

Erik took a disbelieving step backwards, but quickly froze when she continued.

"He was my childhood sweetheart, the one love of my life. Looking back, I remember him being my main source of happiness. Right after my father died . . . it seemed like he was the only one there for me. He'll always be tied to my childhood, no matter what happens. I guess this is why it was so hard for me to accept. I didn't want to let him go."

He noticed how she used the past tense, and could only wait with baited breath for the remainder of her words.

"And you . . . you came into my life and changed everything. You took notice of my love for music, and made my voice into what it is now. You sang to me, you taught me to sing so beautifully . . . and you loved me. You were what my father had promised. You were my Angel of Music. You were so very different from him, and yet very much the same.

"It was inevitable, there was no way you could have prevented me from knowing eventually. I admit I was devastated when I came to find that you were just a man. This meant my father had not kept his promise to me. But I still could not let you go. You were right, Erik, so right that it scared me. I loved you then as I do now.

"And then you somehow came between him and me. I still don't know how it all fell into place, nor do I want to, but it was time for me to decide: I had to choose one or the other. And I chose him over you.

"I didn't understand my choice then, why I had left you behind. But now I know why. I was afraid that if I lost him, I would forget. I thought the memories of my father and childhood would fade away. But staying here with you has proven I have not forgotten. I can still remember everything just as I could before."

"Christine -" It was becoming too much for her, she had to stop.

"No, let me finish, Erik. Please."

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue:

"I understand now. I understand what you have been trying to tell me from the beginning. I know you brought me here because you wanted me to see it with my own eyes, you wanted me to see that I love you, and that I always have. I thought it was cruel because I didn't understand _why_. But I do now.

"I was scared of you - not scared because of who you are or what you've done, but because of what I feel for you. I was so confused, I had everything wrong. You were right all this time."

It was then that she turned to face him, and he knew what was coming as he knew a storm was.

"I made the mistake of leaving you behind once, Erik," she said, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. "And I do not intend for it to happen again." She felt his hands on the sides of her face in the next second, and couldn't help but smile. "I love you," she whispered. "All of you." Christine very carefully removed the white mask from the right side of his face and let it fall to the floor.

"I'm sure I'll always love you more, Christine," he whispered back. "No matter what happens from this point onward."

She gently laid a hand on the scarred flesh. "I guess I'll have to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you wrong."

She slowly leaned closer to him until their lips met.

Christine knew she would get lost again, but this time, she wanted to. She knew the territory now, and she was with him; she was with Erik, her other half.

She was home.

"Erik," she asked quietly a few heartbeats later. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he breathed.

"Would you put this on me?"

Erik watched as Christine opened a clenched fist. There, in the palm of her hand, was the ring. "Christine -"

"I know you have your reservations on the matter, but I know it's what we'll both want in the end."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Then, doing his best to keep his hands steady, he took her left hand in his and gently slid the ring onto the third finger.

Erik later wished he could somehow have stopped time at that moment and changed something, for what happened next only made all the hatred he had ever felt come alive.

He had failed to realize that it had begun raining. He could hear it now, pounding against the roof.

Hearing Christine gasp suddenly at his side, he glanced out the window to see a figure dismounting from a white horse below, a glimmering silver sword in his hand.

**Reviewing won't hurt you. It'll only result in a faster update! :)**


	11. Confrontations

**A/N: Ah! I'm so excited for this chapter! I'm really happy with the way it turned out. I hope you guys will be too. This one has a lot of action, so be ready for it! And thanks for all the reviews!**

**Disclaimer: Almost everyone knows who Phantom belongs to, but for those who don't, I'm here to tell you that ALW does, not me.**

**Chapter 11: Confrontations**

It was getting increasingly dark, and he was utterly lost.

He had thought following the carriage would have been easy, but to avoid suspicion, he had fallen behind and somehow lost sight of it. Now he was on a dirt road that seemed to be never-ending.

He had been so close! He had found the maid that could lead him to Christine and Erik. How was he ever going to be able to find his way there without the help of _his_ maid? The roads twisted and turned here, coming to join together, leaving him with many difficult choices to make. One false turn, and he would likely never see Christine again. He could only follow his heart and hope for the best.

As the horse trotted along the dirt road, Raoul thought back to that night when Christine had been taken. He knew that, if given the chance, he would go back and change it. He'd take Erik to the grave with him before he would willingly let Christine go. As if in answer to this thought, the sword at his side suddenly seemed to feel much heavier than before.

Just as he was thinking about turning around and trying a different route, Raoul saw an opening ahead. Curious, his heart beating faster in his chest, he continued onward at a steady pace.

As he neared the opening, he could see clearly from where he was atop the white horse. He saw many small square flower gardens, each containing a wide range of diverse plants, and more colors than he could count. It was far more beautiful than anything he had ever laid eyes on, the exception being Christine Daaé.

A few seconds later, the clearing came fully into view, and Raoul noticed something else insanely magnificent. A large house, uniquely built, the architecture and structure equally as eye-catching as the plant life. It was oddly familiar as he looked at it with wide eyes, though he was sure he had never been there before.

In the next second, rain was pouring down on him, instantly soaking him from head to toe. He shivered only slightly as he glanced up at the sky.

But before he could do even that, his gaze fixed upon something else, and his expression immediately darkened.

Looking through the window, he could tell it was Christine, there was no doubt about that . . . but she was not alone. There was a man wrapped around her, passionately kissing her.

Raoul froze in horror.

He saw her give the man a ring, and then he put the ring on her finger. Raoul instinctively knew which finger it was.

His voice returned to him, and he let out a roar of anger. He leaped from his horse, unsheathing his sword as he did so in one smooth movement. Raoul de Chagny sprinted for the door, his single goal being to find Erik . . . and kill him.

* * *

"How much farther?"

"Not long now. We'll be there soon enough."

The carriage was bouncing along down the road, and in the back sat Meg Giry. She was slumped back against the seat, trying very hard not to think about what was to come. Her mother had taken up the driver's seat, and was now following Raoul's trail, though the words she spoke did not comfort Meg.

After stopping by the town and lucking out on information, they had found that Raoul had headed down the very road they were on now. Meg had no idea what her mother was doing, for the roads were very confusing. How she could tell where she was, Meg didn't know. She only hoped they would reach Raoul before he reached Erik.

Meg wouldn't allow herself to think about what might happen if they didn't, though she knew very well what _could_.

It was a long time before the carriage began to slow, and then came to a stop. Meg slid closer to the window. Had they found him?

Her gaze fell upon the most beautiful sight her eyes had ever seen. And then her mouth fell open in astonishment.

* * *

Christine had never seen Erik move so fast.

Before she could even say two words to him, his black cloak was over his shoulders, his mask back in its former place, and a sword was at his side. He unsheathed it, causing her panic to double.

Erik took a step toward the door.

"Erik, wait."

Christine hated hearing the desperation in her own voice, but she knew of no other way to delay him. She knew nothing would stop him, no matter what she did, but there was no way she was going to fail without trying.

He turned to face her, and she was shaken by a single realization: She didn't recognize him; the left side of his face was livid, his gray-green eyes gone. In their place was a pair of red orbs she had never laid eyes on: They were the eyes of an untamed beast.

"Please, don't do this," she pleaded in a whisper. Her voice was strangely dry and hoarse. "Don't go."

It took him a very brief second to compose his face, though he didn't say anything, and his breathing was still quite heavy. He only stared back at her with an expression she could not identify. He turned away.

"You know what will happen, Erik," she tried.

But that wasn't good enough. He opened the door and flew out into the hallway.

She followed immediately, every part of her shaking. She couldn't let herself think, for she knew that would be no help.

She dashed down the hallway, and picked up the pace once she reached the stairs, going so fast she almost lost her footing. Though she stopped abruptly at the bottom, for she noticed there was a crumpled figure sprawled out across the floor.

With a frightened gasp, Christine recognized Amelia's limp body.

Christine was instantly concerned, knowing Erik must have done this in his angry haze, but there was something worse occurring at that very moment. She had to get outside.

As she neared the doorway, she could begin to hear the almost constant clashing sound of steel against steel. It was an obvious first sign that Erik had indeed found Raoul.

The next second Christine was standing in the doorway, staring out over the flowers at two figures locked in a duel, a disbelieving look upon her face.

Could it be possible that she was dreaming all this up? Christine knew at once she was awake, for it all felt too real - her worst nightmares must have followed her back to the waking world.

The memory of the graveyard drifted into her thoughts, causing her to shiver slightly. She had been unable to do anything then, except stop Raoul from killing Erik. What could she possibly do now, with the two of them hashing away at each other? Watching was simply not an option.

A carriage appeared through the trees less than a moment later, and to Christine's relief, Madame and Meg Giry came rushing towards her.

Christine met Meg halfway, but Madame Giry now had a sword of her own, and was trying her best to somehow stop the fight. She was disarmed before anything significant could be done.

"Meg, bring your mother here, quickly!" Christine called. If there was any way she could prevent her friends from getting hurt, Christine was sure to take that opportunity. The fight had started because of her, that much was almost _too_ obvious. She could protect them, at least.

Meg turned and called to her mother, and Madame Giry obeyed, though rather reluctantly. She seemed disappointed by her own lack of help with the situation.

"I know there's no time to explain anything now, but we have to do something, or they're going to be killed," Christine said as soon as Madame Giry was within hearing distance.

"Yes, but what can we do?" Meg asked, looking at her mother.

Madame Giry suddenly looked at Christine, her eyes wide, and then her expression fell, clearly saddened.

"Christine, do you trust me?" she asked.

Christine blinked and then frowned. "Of course."

"Only you can stop them, and I know just the way," she said, pulling out the sword again. "Follow me, and do as I say."

She began walking back towards the fighting pair. Christine had no choice but to follow.

"Follow my lead," the older woman replied in a low tone.

There was a long moment of silence, and Christine knew Madame Giry was hesitating at her side. What could she be thinking of?

Christine took a sharp intake of breath as she felt cool steel against her throat.

"Forgive me," the older woman breathed in barely above a whisper.

"Drop your swords, _now_!" Madame Giry shouted through the pouring rain. "If you should fail, I'll cut her throat, and she'll vanish from this world!"

Erik and Raoul dropped their weapons immediately, and turned towards Madame Giry and Christine.

"You wouldn't dare," Erik growled in a dark, threatening voice.

"Wouldn't I, Erik?" Madame Giry asked, pressing the blade deeper into the skin of Christine's neck.

"No," he said after a few heartbeats of silence. "I don't think you would."

"Let her go," Raoul suddenly commanded.

Madame Giry shook her head. "Not until a decision is made."

Realization struck Christine like a bolt of lightning: She wasn't just fish bait, she was being held hostage as well.

"I believe this is where you take the floor, Christine."

With pleading eyes, Christine glanced at Erik, and then at Raoul. She could hardly breathe, the sword would surely break the skin if it was forced any deeper. As a result, she was becoming lightheaded rather abruptly.

"No!" Erik's deep voice caused Christine to shift uncomfortably in Madame Giry's grasp. "Do not force this upon her! She will never have to make a choice, not now . . . or ever, as far as I'm concerned."

Raoul shot him a disbelieving look, which turned into an angered one.

This did not go unnoticed by Erik. "Do you truly wish for her to?"

It did not take long for Raoul to shake his head.

Madame Giry laughed mockingly. "As if you both would ever come to any sort of agreement! Though, I honestly can't say I'm surprised that it's over this." She tightened her hold on Christine.

Erik took a step forward, which was not the best of moves to make.

"Don't move any closer, Monsieur, for you know what will happen!"

Christine closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

Christine's words echoed inside Erik's head. _You know what will happen._ He halted his movements immediately.

"Why are you doing this?" Raoul asked, his voice acidic.

"Why don't you ask the Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny?" Meg's mother asked challengingly. "He just so happens to be standing right next to you! Perhaps you should ask him why I'm doing him this favor."

Raoul's jaw clenched as he glanced swiftly at Erik. "Well?"

Erik sighed, frustrated. "That was not fair, Madame."

"You would be rid of the constant pain, Erik, think of it! A world without suffering, a world where you would not have to long for her presence every waking moment of your existence! Isn't that what you've wanted?"

"_No_!" he roared. "That has _never _been what I wanted! Of course it hasn't! How could you even _think_ . . .?" He paused, glancing at a point just over her shoulder. "No Madame," he began again, his voice much calmer, almost careful. "It is _you_ who has always wanted that for me. And I'm not sorry to say I don't want to live in a world without Christine."

"Very well," Madame Giry finally said. "It is not my fault if you do not wish to bring your soul peace. God only knows how much I've sacrificed to help you, and I'm sure He knows I'm not going to any longer." She paused. "It's up to Christine, now."

Gasping for what she knew could be her last breath, Christine began to panic. She couldn't decide, not now, not even if her life depended on it. She was simply not ready to make one of them miserable by choosing the other. It wasn't supposed to happen this way!

Christine inhaled sharply, and closed her eyes again. _I love you both._

Madame Giry frowned in confusion at Erik's sudden smug smile. And before she could ask why he was smiling now, of all times, several things happened.

The first thing to happen was that the sword was taken from Madame Giry's grasp from someone behind her. Meg's mother turned to find her own daughter pointing the sword directly at her.

Christine was then released, and Erik pulled her to safety by his side. Both he and Raoul retrieved their swords to copy Meg.

Madame Giry stared incredulously around at them all, knowing she had been defeated at her own game.

"What should we do with her?" Erik asked, struggling to keep his composure.

Meg smiled. "I think I have an idea."

**Wow, looks like things have heated up! **

**Please review!!**


	12. Explanations

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Warning: Character death! And I positive this will be the last and final chapter of A Visit From the Past, but I plan do plan to post an epilogue! I know it probably seems quite sudden. I just finished it yesterday, and it seemed like this was the perfect place to end the story. I hope you agree with me once you've read it. As always, please review if you have spare moment! :) And you may want to have a box of tissues ready. This may cause you to cry.**

**Disclaimer: You know how this goes. I don't own Phantom.**

**Chapter 12: Explanations**

The rain had let up by a noticeable amount, making it easier to read every expression.

"Wait."

Four pairs of eyes shifted to the young face of Raoul de Chagny as he spoke, his own accusing glare directed at Madame Giry.

"I don't think we have quite the full story," he continued after a short pause. Raoul took a small step forward, the sword he wielded coming just within an inch of Madame Giry's throat. From the older woman's slightly lifted chin and stubborn set of her jaw, he knew she would reveal nothing.

Both Christine and Meg gasped when he suddenly turned on Erik in a swift blur. The blade came to rest just above Erik's left shoulder, hovering dangerously close. Raoul's voice was dark and cold when he spoke next, his tone filled with undisguised hatred and accusation: "Care to elaborate?"

For a moment, Christine feared Erik would retaliate with a maneuver of his own. The anger swam in his eyes, all too familiar to her. The quick glance Meg threw her friend only mirrored Christine's thoughts.

And then the anger vanished, as if it had never been there to begin with.

The corners of Erik's mouth began to twitch, like he found the current situation to be highly amusing. They finally lifted to produce a small half-smile, though Christine noticed it did not fully touch his eyes. "Do you believe that would be wise?" Erik lowered his own sword to his side, but kept it firmly in his grasp.

Raoul uncomfortably shifted his weight from one leg to the other. His stance was far from confident, but he held his ground, trying too hard to keep his hand steady upon the hilt of the sword. "Why should it matter? You are perhaps the most at fault here; you're responsible for every minute I've spent in hell these past months. It's an irrelevant question as to your role in this." There was pause in which the Vicomte phrased his next question. "How much did you pay to keep her silence?"

Erik sighed. "Madame Giry did not approve of my plan to begin with, and told me the best thing would be to return to the cold, lonely world on my own."

"As you should have," Raoul suggested sharply.

Erik surprisingly nodded. "I knew on our way here that I had made a terrible mistake. I told Christine of my thoughts, though she refused to leave. There was nothing I could do. I was not going to cast her aside, not if she wished to be here with me." His voice was amazingly calm.

"Perhaps that would have been best. At least then she would have been able to return to me, where she would have been able to live in peace." Raoul suddenly lowered his sword, his face holding a defeated expression, while everyone turned to stare incredulously at him. "But I can clearly see that I'm too late." The sword didn't make a sound when it fell to the ground at his feet.

It took only a few seconds for Christine to realize that Raoul had given up on her.

"Erik," she said after a long moment. "Isn't there an abandoned cabin in the woods not too far from here?"

He frowned down at her, confused by her question. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Would you mind showing Raoul where it is?" She paused to read his expression. It did not change. "It's getting dark now, and I think it would be best if he stayed somewhere nearby."

It was then that a shadow crossed his face, though he nodded in agreement, and led Raoul towards the rose garden, sheathing his sword as he went.

"Meg," Christine said after they had disappeared. "Bring your mother inside. We must check on Erik's maid, Amelia." She did not dare to mention she feared the woman was in critical condition.

The three of them headed indoors as the rain decided to completely stop falling from the gloomy sky.

* * *

Erik returned sooner than Christine expected him to.

"How is she?" he asked as he appeared next to them at the bottom of the stairs.

There was a low sigh from Meg. "I don't believe she made it."

Christine could see Erik was trying very hard not to let any emotion show in his features. "Here, move aside." He came closer and bent to check Amelia's pulse.

He never found one.

Amelia was carefully lifted into Erik's arms. She looked as if she was peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware of the waking world, though they all knew that was not the case. Her head hung at an odd angle, as if it had been snapped in half.

Erik turned back towards the door, but not even Christine dared to follow. There was a silent understanding between them all: Erik was to put her to rest alone.

He was gone as quickly as he had returned.

"Meg, I would like a few words with Raoul," Christine said, her eyes still locked on the door down the hall. "Could you stay here with your mother?"

"Yes," she said, looking over at her mother as she answered. "I would like a few words of my own with her."

"I'll be back soon. Let Erik know where I am if he returns before I do."

And then Christine left the two to talk.

* * *

It would be a long time before he forgave himself for what he had done, Erik was absolutely sure of that.

The rain had ceased now, though the clouds still whirled threateningly above. He wondered why the sky was not crying for the death of Amelia, and the thought made him push forward at a bit faster pace, refusing to let anger get the better of him . . . if a better part existed.

He stopped only when he had reached a tall oak tree. It was the most beautiful one he had ever laid eyes on, and knew it was the spot.

He set his maid's body gently aside and went to work, digging with his bare hands. It wasn't long before the hole was dug.

He laid her to rest carefully at the bottom, and whispered a few words of apology: "I'm sorry for everything I've done to you, Amelia. Asking for your forgiveness would only make me that much less of a human being than I already am."

He pushed the earth over her lifeless body, and then found a medium-sized rock. He settled, pulled a tool from beneath his cloak, and began to carve a message into the stone. When he had finished, he placed it at the head of the grave. He sighed and stood. Giving the grave one last glance and muttering another meaningful apology, Erik turned to leave.

The message he had carved on the stone read: "Here lies Amelia, the bravest young woman anyone could ever meet. May she rest in peace for all time."

* * *

Meg turned to face her mother completely when Christine had left.

"Explain everything," she demanded. "From the beginning."

Madame Giry sighed and began to tell her daughter what she wished to hear. The truth did not seem to hurt the younger Giry, though she did frown when she learned of her mother's act to help Erik.

"Why did you assist him if you opposed his scheme to kidnap Christine?"

Madame Giry looked down at the floor for what seemed like an eternity. Then she looked deep into her daughter's eyes and said, "The sole reason I chose to help him was because I wanted to protect you, Meg. I knew what he wanted, and I practically handed her over to him, thinking that would be my final act. I thought we would never have to be mixed in with all this madness again. I'm sorry I put you in danger."

Meg hugged her mother, forgiving her completely. Mistakes were part of what made both of them human. Forgiveness was the key to the door of guilt, and Meg Giry could tell some of the guilt had evaporated when she pulled her mother into a hug.

* * *

Christine found the small path easily in the increasing darkness.

It was hard to stray clear of the mud and trees dripping with left over rain water. If it weren't for the mud, she wouldn't have discovered the letter nailed to a tree branch.

She slipped and caught herself on the branch before she could fall into the brown muck. It was there, waiting for her to open it.

Christine steadied herself before pulling the envelope free. She opened it after taking a deep breath, recognizing his handwriting on the front, where he'd scribbled her name. She unfolded the parchment and began to read:

_Christine,_

_The past couple of months have been rather difficult for the both of us. I take the majority of the blame, seeing as it was I who brought you here in the first place. But I want you to know that I do not regret the time we have spent together, here in our own little paradise. _

_I admit that I am quite the selfish being, though I could never ask you to do something you didn't want to. I would cherish every second of the rest of my life if you chose to stay by my side, though Raoul is obviously tied to your childhood, as you once told me yourself. So yes, there is a decision for you to make, but I'm not asking you to make it right away. I will understand either way, whatever you decide. Just follow what your heart tells you. _

_The simple fact that you love me is enough for me to live the rest of my life in peaceful solitude. Madame Giry was right after all. Perhaps I should have tried to make my way in the world, though then none of this would ever have happened. This has felt more like a dream than anything else, and you are, without doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to me. The dream has always been real, I know. _

_By the time you've read this, Madame Giry and her daughter will already be on their way. They will return to Paris, naturally. And as for myself, you know where I'll be once you've decided. Come only when you're sure, and not before. Please continue on. I know you came this way to speak with Raoul. _

_I never feel like I say it enough, but know I love you, Christine._

_Forever Yours,_

_Erik_

Christine stared down at the letter for a long time, re-reading it several times, trying to comprehend the shadowy meaning behind his words. But it felt like she was running out of time, and she could not waste any more of it. She had to find Raoul . . . and then Erik.

She held on tightly to the branches of trees as she made her way through the rest of the woods and into a small clearing. The cabin resided in the middle, made almost entirely from stone.

The ground sloshed beneath her feet as she crossed the short distance to the wooden door. She swiftly tucked the letter out of sight and knocked three times, to find that the door was hanging open slightly. Christine let herself inside to find him sitting right in the front room at a mahogany table. He was staring absentmindedly out the window opposite him.

"He said you'd come," Raoul announced. He glanced up at Christine after a few heartbeats of absolute silence. "Always right, isn't he?"

Christine nodded and took a seat next to him. "Every time."

The moments passed slowly, one by one, until Christine thought he was purposefully waiting for her to speak. She swallowed. "Say something."

"What could I possibly have to say, Christine?" His eyes finally met hers. "I love you, and if that's not enough, then there's nothing I can do to keep you here." Then he laughed once. "I understand him a lot better now than I ever have before, though it's still fairly easy to blame him for everything."

"Raoul," Christine said, her voice choked with emotion. She placed her left hand on top of his.

He saw the ring on her third finger, and smiled. "So you've already decided." It wasn't a question.

Christine could only say: "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be," he insisted. "It's not your fault you fell in love with him. I can't blame you for something you had no control over."

Christine stared down at their hands on the table. Raoul took hers in his. "Just please tell me one thing."

She watched him carefully, but nodded, agreeing.

His face showed his struggle to say the words aloud. He tried several times, each one being unsuccessful. He finally managed to ask, "How long?"

She knew exactly what he meant. "Ever since he first answered my prayer."

"I see."

"There is one thing I want you to know before I leave, Raoul. I'll always love you. You're the best friend I've ever had, and I hope one day you'll be able to find peace, love, and all the happiness anyone could ever have."

"Thank you, Christine," he said. "That means more to me than you can possibly imagine." He gently kissed her hand before she stood and pulled him in for one last hug.

"Soul mates?" she asked.

"Forever," he replied. Pulling back slightly, he muttered, "Good-bye, Little Lottie."

"Good-bye, Raoul." The tears were starting to fall now, faster than she could ever remember them falling.

He saw the question burning in her tear-filled eyes and answered it before she could ask. "Don't worry about me. My horse is still up by the house. I'll leave soon and go back to the mansion." He paused. "I love you."

"I love you, too." It took a lot more strength than she thought it would to step back and turn away from him. She had to run to the door to keep herself from turning back around.

Raoul stood motionless once the door had closed, his hand half-reaching towards the place where Christine had disappeared from sight.

* * *

Christine furiously wiped the tears away from her eyes, only for more to take their place. She could hardly see as she half-ran, half-stumbled back up the trail towards the rose garden.

His letter suddenly made perfect sense. _Come only when you're sure, and not before. . . . You know where I'll be once you've decided._

Christine broke through the trees, running right into something rather hard. Once she had control of her breathing, she opened her eyes and looked up to find she was staring at the man she'd chosen. There was a smile plastered on his face, and he put a thumb to her face to rid it of her tears.

"Erik, I -"

A finger stopped her from finishing her sentence. "Don't you think we've done enough talking?"

He gently took her face in his hands and kissed her with all the passion he possessed.

After all they'd gone through, who knew a visit from the past could change everything?


	13. Epilogue

**A/N: So this is the final ending to A Visit From the Past. I'm sorry it took so long to get this up, but I worked to make it as good as all of the previous chapters combined into one awesome ending. I hope everyone enjoys the last installment. Please R&R!**

**Disclaimer: Phantom will forever belong to the genius ALW.**

**Epilogue**

_The sun reached the top of its peak, flooding the scene before him with light. The horse he rode was as black as midnight and kept up a steady pace, its hooves rhythmically thudding against the tightly-packed soil beneath them. The man atop the black beauty felt that their heartbeats had become one, and when he closed his eyes even for the slightest second, he was sure he was flying. _

_They reached the forest in no time at all, the trees whipping past them in large clumps. Now, only patches of sunlight shone through the high branches, which provided them with much welcomed shade from the intense heat. The man pushed his horse faster, determined to reach his desired destination by nightfall. _

_The moon had just appeared in the sky, the last flash of sunlight vanished from the horizon, when he arrived. The streets of Paris were filled with people. He noticed they all seemed to be heading in the same direction, and soon realized he was as well. _

_He kept to the shadows, deciding it was best to stay hidden from the crowd. It was not long before he found the very place he was to meet Raoul de Chagny. _

_After receiving a letter from the boy, he knew he had to see him one last time. Though why the young de Chagny had insisted on meeting here, just outside the Opera House, the man was not sure. He dismounted from the horse. It was now eight o'clock. _

_The first few silent minutes of waiting increasingly convinced the man he would be leaving without saying a word to anyone at all. Perhaps he should not have come, for he had not made the trip for his health. _

_But Raoul seemed to decide at that very moment to make his appearance, for he stepped out of the moonlit street and into the shadows._

_He nodded once in greeting. "Erik."_

_The man beside the black horse did not say anything at first. He was gazing up at the sky where the first signs of stars were beginning to appear, wondering if someone else far from where he was now happened to be looking at them, too. . . . "To be frank, Monsieur Raoul, I'm not quite sure why you requested we meet here, of all places." Erik shifted his gaze to the boy's face, waiting for some sort of explanation._

_Raoul averted Erik's gaze and smoothly ignored the comment. "I wanted to ask you if you would take this." He extended a hand, which held a sealed envelope. _

_Erik took it, immediately noticing the name on the front. It was addressed to Christine. _

_He nodded. "I will give it to her. You have my word."_

_Raoul hesitated, as if he needed greater assurance but instead said, "Take care of her, Erik. Make her happy."_

_The masked man swung a leg over his horse before glancing down at Raoul de Chagny for what he thought would be the last time. "That has always been my intention, from the very beginning."_

_And then he rode off into the night, leaving Christine's childhood sweetheart behind to wonder if his one and only love would ever truly be happy without him._

* * *

The trip back did not seem to take nearly as long, and Erik surely did not mind this fact. He was eager to return to what was now his paradise, his home, which he would finally be able to share with his beloved Christine. It would be _their_ fantasy world now, where the two of them could live in peace together. He couldn't help but have warm thoughts, for Christine had been joyful ever since he had decided to make their engagement more official earlier that morning. The memory filled his mind as he neared the trail that would lead him back to his fiancée.

* * *

_The sun was just beginning to rise when three knocks came from the door. Christine was already awake, sitting on the edge of her bed, glancing out through the open window. _

_"Come in," she called._

_He walked in with a smile and a slight bounce in his step. "Good morning, Christine."_

_She glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. "Can I ask why you seem so buoyant?"_

_Erik's smile widened a little. "Is there some particular reason why I shouldn't be?" he countered. _

_"I don't believe there's a reason why _you _shouldn't be," Christine said._

_The corners of his mouth fell. "Could you not sleep?"_

_She shook her head quickly. "No. No, nothing like that. I heard you singing, and it helped me to." She flashed him a small smile. "But . . . I was up thinking for quite a while. . . ."_

_Erik sighed and sat down beside her on the bed. "Tell me what's on your mind."_

_It took a few tries for her to get it out. "It's - I'm. . . . It's just that I'm worried about how the ceremony will be."_

_A troubled look came over the left side of Erik's face, though he felt rather relieved. Of course! It would be natural for her to be concerned about their wedding, but he wasn't sure how to console her. He sighed again. "There should be no reason for you to be worried, Christine. The priest is an old . . . acquaintance of mine. He has informed me that he shall arrive in three days' time."_

_Christine couldn't keep a smile from spreading on her face and let out a shaky laugh. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be fretting over something this silly." She looked at him curiously. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"_

_Erik took a deep breath. "I wanted to _ask_ you something, if you don't mind."_

_A mixture of confusion and curiosity became evident in her features. "Of course."_

_She began to pay close attention. What was he up to?_

_He held out his arm. "Accompany me to the rose garden?"_

_She took his arm and followed him out of the house, through the greenery, and finally to the rose garden. She studied his face the entire time, but he gave nothing away. _

_As they were nearing the end of the short trail, their pace slowed only slightly. "Please bear with me, Christine," Erik said. "I've never done this before, though I intend for it to be perfect."_

_Erik lowered onto one knee, and said, "I believe it's time I properly proposed."_

_Christine could do nothing but hold her breath and wait._

_Erik took her left hand in his. "Every day I've spent with you has been like a day in my own personal heaven. I've loved you since the moment I knew you existed, and I always will." He paused to clear his throat. "Christine Daaé, I kneel before you now to ask for your hand in marriage. Will you take me as your husband?"_

_After all the crying she'd done lately, Christine didn't think it was possible to shed another tear. But her eyes began to water, and the warm moisture inevitably spilled over. _

_At first, Erik panicked. Had this been the wrong time? Had he said something that had upset her?_

_And then he was suddenly pulled to his feet, where he was embraced._

_"You didn't have to do this," she whispered in his ear. "You know I would have, anyway."_

_Erik hugged her back. "I just wanted to hear you say it."_

_She choked out a laugh. "Then, yes, I'll marry you, Erik." She pulled back to kiss him, but before she could, he swept her up in his arms. _

_He chuckled. "I thought I should get some practice before the wedding," he explained. "You know, before I have to carry you over the threshold."_

_"Isn't that like cheating, Erik? Breaking the traditional wedding rules?" she asked. _

_He smiled. "And since when, exactly, have I been a man for tradition?"_

_Erik carried Christine all the way back to the house, thankful he now had her permanently in his life. _

_When they reached the door, Christine frowned. "Wait, were you saying that I'm a heavy load?"_

_Erik laughed and shouldered open the door. "No, I just meant that I want everything to be right for us. And practice _does_ make perfect."_

_"Everything already _is_ perfect," she insisted. "And will be . . . forever."_

_He nodded once and agreed: "Forever." _

_Erik took her all the way back up the stairs to her room. When he laid her back on the bed, her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even; she'd fallen asleep in his arms._

* * *

Now, as he turned into the clearing, he could see her waiting by the front door. He quickly made sure the envelope was tucked away deep in the folds of his cloak; he'd give her the letter when the time was right.

Erik had waited until Christine had woken up before telling her he had a few loose ends to tie before the wedding. Though he had felt bad for lying to her, he knew it was necessary. He intended to make up for it in every way that he could, for he wanted to be able to tell her the truth when he knew she was ready to hear it. He smiled, thinking of what he had already planned for them.

Erik rode up to her, and held out a hand. "Care to join me?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "May I ask where we would be going if I were to accept your invitation?"

Erik gently pulled her onto the saddle behind him in one swift, gentle motion. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." With a smile, he urged the horse forward.

As the horse's speed increased, Christine's hold around his stomach became tighter. He slowed when they were nearing the place he wanted to show her. She rested her head against his back.

"We're here." Christine could hear the smile in his voice.

"Do I have to close my eyes?" she asked.

"Only if you want to," he replied. "But I did bring this, just in case you didn't." He pulled out a piece of cloth.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked as he fastened it over her eyes.

"No, it's merely for my enjoyment." He took her hand and slowly began leading her forward. "Trust me?"

"I don't really have a choice here, Erik."

She heard him chuckle.

Christine did her best to keep silent. She only asked once if they were close.

"I couldn't take you straight there, or it wouldn't have been any fun!" he'd said.

Maybe the whole marriage thing was starting to go to his head.

He picked up the pace. They were so close. . . .

Then Erik stopped suddenly, and pulled off her blindfold.

One of the most beautiful scenes laid before her: There was a large lake, trees surrounding it all along the north side. On the edge closest to them, a blanket was stretched out, and a tiny bundle sat beside a small basket. It was like a picture from a story book.

"Welcome to our paradise for the night," he announced.

Even though her eyes were still drinking in the scene, Christine couldn't believe it. "You did all of this?"

"Yes." He glanced up at the sky, where the sun was already beginning to sink. "I've never spent a night sleeping under the stars."

Christine started forward towards the blanket. "Neither have I."

Erik followed and took a seat next to her. He unfastened his cloak and set it aside, putting both hands behind his head before lying down to gaze up at the stars. He thought it was odd for them both not to have experienced something as simple as sleeping outside under the night sky.

Christine used his cloak like a pillow, resting her head on it and breathing in his scent as she, too, looked up at the sky. A few moments of silence passed, in which they gazed in wonder, and then a sudden burst of light streaked across the collection of stars. It came and went so quickly, Christine knew she would have missed it if she'd blinked.

"Erik?"

"Yes, Christine?"

"Why do you think people wish on shooting stars?"

For that, Erik did not have a direct answer. He thought for a while. "I think it is because they are rare, or so I've heard."

"That's the first one I've seen in a long time," Christine said in barely above a whisper, clearly awed, "since I was a little girl."

"That was the first one I've ever seen with my own eyes," Erik said. The same awe was not as clear in his voice, but Christine was sure she had heard a hint of it.

She turned her head so that she saw the masked side of her fiancé's face. "What did you wish for?"

Erik waved a hand absently. "It was nothing of importance."

Christine frowned.

He turned to look at her. He laughed once, as if she was being silly. "Now, do you really think I'd tell you that, Christine?"

"I thought you might."

Erik smiled. "Then I guess you don't know that if you tell someone what you wished for, it won't come true."

As he told her this, the last of the sun's light vanished beneath the horizon.

So that was why Raoul's wishes had never come true! Christine realized. He'd always told her what he wished for when they were little.

The smile still on his face, Erik sat up rather abruptly, grabbed her hand, and charged towards the water. Christine tried to break his hold on her, to no avail.

"Erik, no, wait . . . !" Her pleas were drowned out by her own scream as he pulled her into the lake.

The lake was so shallow that Christine could touch the bottom, the water only reaching the tops of her shoulders. Erik had allowed himself to go completely under, and he resurfaced with his mask still on his face. But in the next moment, he had tossed it carelessly back towards his cloak. Christine watched as it landed neatly on top of the black fabric.

While she was distracted for that second, Erik dipped down in the water low enough so that he could gently lift her into his arms. Careful to keep one hand between her shoulder blades and his other arm hooked under her knees, he swirled her around in the water in a small circle.

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but eventually closed it. Being in his arms seemed to calm her.

"I've never seen this side of you before," Christine said, some of the awe returning to her voice.

He didn't exactly smile at this, but it looked as if he wanted to. "That's because I'm just discovering the man I can and want to be."

If every night could be this peaceful, this wonderful for them, Erik was sure they could survive eternity with no problem at all.

* * *

It must have been around midnight when Christine's eyelids started to droop. They had nearly emptied the basket full of food after their swim in the lake. Erik barely noticed that the moon was high in the sky, bathing them in white light. His fiancée - he still couldn't believe Christine was going to marry him - was half-asleep, trying to ask him something. He wrapped a now-dry arm around her.

"Erik, what . . . what is your last name?" Her words were slow and slightly slurred. Her head was resting on his shoulder.

Though he felt like laughing, her question was too serious for him to find humor in her behavior. He answered after a few seconds of looking out across the lake. "Destler," Erik told her. "My last name is Destler."

"Christine Destler. . . ." Her voice trailed off, and soon he heard the familiar sound of her controlled breathing. He saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest as he smoothly slid his arm out from under her and rose quite agilely, unable to keep still.

For a while, he just thought and paced back and forth at the end of the blanket. When he realized he was being extremely foolish for thinking the same way he had after he'd brought Christine to the paradise he created for her, Erik settled himself beside Christine. He watched her throughout the night, thinking. He wanted to make her so happy that she could hardly contain it.

* * *

Morning came sooner than Erik expected. Christine continued to sleep, and he let her; he'd watched her sleep all night, and it was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

As he waited patiently for her to awake, Erik suddenly remembered what he'd overheard Madame Giry once tell her daughter when she was terribly ill. Meg had asked for her mother to tell her stories to help her sleep, and Madame Giry had told her a love story that Erik had been sure she'd created on a whim.

The ending line had been: _You know you love someone when you can watch them sleep throughout the night_.

For the next two days, Erik made sure Christine was happier than she'd ever been in her life. They mostly sang together, for she'd missed their singing lessons. He spoiled her, right down to buying her a wedding dress.

She loved it at first glance. Then she shoved him out of the room so she could try it on; the dress fit like it had been made for her.

Life didn't seem like it could get any better, but the following day, Christine woke to find that bright sunlight had filled her room.

Today, she was going to marry Erik Destler.

She briefly reflected on all that had happened to her in the past year, remembering how things had been before she'd gotten to where she was now. So many things had led her to this point. . . .

The priest arrived shortly after Christine dressed in the wedding gown. Erik did not see her until she stepped through the undergrowth of the path that led to the rose garden. She slowly walked straight up to him where both he and the man that would marry them stood waiting. Erik had never seen anything more beautiful.

The ceremony did not last long and their vows were short. Both knew how the other felt, knew they'd never say anything they didn't mean.

When Erik said, "I do", there was both joy and triumph in his voice. Christine understood why, for there was a pause in which the priest asked her if she would take Erik as her husband. The same feelings thickened her voice with emotion as she also said, "I do".

The priest pronounced them man and wife. They both leaned forward until their lips met and shared a gentle kiss.

Erik and Christine had agreed it would be best if they held the ceremony without an audience. No one clapped for them as the priest presented Mr. and Mrs. Erik Destler for the first time, but the pair didn't need the applause. Their wedding had turned out to be just fine, as Erik had promised.

Erik thanked the priest, who hopped in a carriage and left right after the ceremony ended, wishing them happiness and long years ahead to spend together.

Erik swiftly swept Christine up in his arms and carried her, bouquet and all, back to the house. They had followed the traditional wedding ceremony, though nothing had seemed traditional about it. It looked as if they were one of kind.

"I'm glad I practiced," Erik told Christine when they'd reached the door. "It's rather tricky, carrying a woman while wearing a suit."

She laughed once.

"I still think that was cheating."

He shouldered open the door and carried his new bride over the threshold.

"Here we are," Erik said, looking around, "Heaven on earth if there ever was one."

After a brief moment of silence, Christine said, still in his arms, "Erik, there's one thing I've been meaning to tell you."

He looked down at her. "Yes?"

She whispered, "Feel free to kidnap me anytime." Christine stretched to kiss the exposed part of his neck.

Erik looked incredulous for a second, but then smiled. "I may just have to take you up on that offer, Mrs. Destler."

* * *

A few weeks after the wedding, Erik sat Christine down in the kitchen one afternoon and handed her the still-sealed envelope. She saw that it was addressed to her.

"It's time I gave you this" was all Erik said before he left the room. She assumed this was his way of giving her time to be alone while she read the contents.

With her eyebrows scrunched together, Christine opened it and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment. Smoothing out the folds, her eyes scrolled down the page, reading the same tidy handwriting that had written her name on the front of the white envelope:

_Christine, _

_As I sit here, writing this letter to you, I realize this will undoubtedly be the last time I do so. Things would be both better and easier for me this way, as I'm sure it would be for you as well._

_First, I must admit that life here in Paris has been quite different without you. It's as if my eyesight has gone bad, and I'm starting to see things as they are in reality. I sometimes dream you are still with me, and I wake to find that you are truly gone. I then wonder why I still expect you to simply appear out of thin air before my very eyes._

_I hope you don't blame me for thinking about what might have happened had I not taken you to the Paris Opera House that night. Things could have turned out to be so different. . . . But I don't wish to dwell on what could have been._

_I am writing this to wish you well, both you and Erik. I have seen for myself how beautiful it is out there, and I know you will be happy. _

_My maids were most delighted to hear that I returned safely home after I told them where I'd gone, for I had to explain why you did not accompany me when I stepped through the door. They begged me to ask you to come back, but I assured them you would not. The door to my manor will always be open to you, Christine. Never forget that. _

_Along with this letter, I have enclosed a thousand francs. I would love for you both to buy yourselves something, as a wedding gift from me._

_Mary is complaining that I am not eating the dinner she so kindly prepared for me, so here is where I must say farewell for the last time. Good-bye, Christine. I love you._

_Raoul de Chagny_

Christine re-read the letter several times, her mind wandering while she did so. Why wasn't she crying? Why _couldn't_ she shed just one tear for the loss of a friend?

She eventually folded the parchment and put it back in the envelope. Leaving it behind, Christine made her way outside.

She found him in the rose garden, pacing, a grim look upon his face.

"Thank you," she said, bringing him back to the present.

Erik was surprised. He had thought she would take a lot longer to grieve, to remember all of the times she had spent with Raoul.

"I would have given it to you sooner, but I was afraid you wouldn't be ready to read it -" He was silenced by the sudden appearance of a smile on her lips.

He'd already done so much for her, even if most of it had not happened in the way she'd wanted or expected it to. She'd realized after he'd kissed her that first time in the rose garden, right where she was now, that she'd been running from him. Even back when he'd forced her to make a choice down in the catacombs of the Paris Opera House, she'd chosen Raoul to save his life . . . and she'd refused to believe she'd felt anything for Erik. Even then, she'd loved him. Then he'd brought her here to the most beautiful place she'd ever seen and helped her to see that it wouldn't be right to keep running. Running from the person you truly loved somehow always brought you back to them. So she'd slowed to a peaceful walk so that she could forever be by Erik side, where she was determined to stay . . . forever.

Christine kissed Erik in a way she never had before. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her even closer to him, her arms around his neck, melting into his embrace. He finally felt at peace here, being able to give her his heart and receiving hers in return. Now Erik was sure she would finally be his . . . forever.

* * *

Christine Daaé never saw Raoul de Chagny again, though she heard of all his successes in Paris. He seemed to have returned to being a great supporter of the Opera House.

It was almost three years before Christine heard so much as a whisper of him again. She was quite happy to receive news claiming he had gotten married to one of the ballet girls, for this meant Raoul was doing just fine without her; he was getting on with his life.

Christine wrote to Raoul every month but never worked up enough courage to send one to him.

She never knew anyone other than herself had read them.

Erik stumbled across a small box one afternoon while Christine was out in the town. He had insisted on staying behind, curious about the long hours she'd been spending in her room. He read every letter, right down to the very last one before replacing the lid back on top.

When God welcomed Christine into the afterlife nearly twenty years later, Erik sent the box to Raoul, along with a short note, explaining what had happened. The Vicomte arrived in a carriage less than a day later, wishing to pay his respects.

It rained that day, as both Erik and Raoul dug Christine's grave. They laid her to rest beside her beloved garden of roses.

Almost an entire year had passed before Raoul received another letter from Erik. When he did, he was surprised to find that Christine's husband had asked him of a first and last favor.

Raoul was very sad to come across Erik's still body the next day. In the letter, Erik had told Raoul he thought he was going to die very soon. Raoul been hoping he would be wrong, for he'd wished to speak with Erik one final time.

With the help of the two young Destler boys, Raoul carried Erik down to the rose garden and dug a large hole right next to Christine's grave. Erik's sons laid him to rest beside their mother.

Raoul placed a stone at the top of each grave and carved their names into it. He had some difficulty in doing this, for the Vicomte was not as young as he'd used to be.

"You made her happier than I ever could have," his voice, cracking with age, whispered to the ground at the foot of Erik Destler's grave. "Thank you for everything, old friend."

With a last look at the graves, Raoul de Chagny left Erik and Christine to rest in peace for all of eternity.

When he was gone, a small red rose poked through the surface of the soil, right in the middle of the two small mounds of earth.

**And that is the end to A Visit From the Past.**


End file.
